


Spirit of a Guardian

by SilverlySilence



Series: Heart of a Dragon's Soul [4]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dragons, Druids, F/M, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Side of Romance, Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 76,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22963180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverlySilence/pseuds/SilverlySilence
Summary: Jack was ready.  He was prepared even. Heck, he'd agreed to sacrifice his life for that of Hiccup's and the rest of Berk.  He never anticipated waking up again, least of all in his own time. Yet, there was no denying he was back and at this point, Jack was unfazed at the regular reoccurrence of waking up at all when he shouldn't have.  At least, this time he would get to say his goodbyes to those he cared about before fading from existence and with the remaining time he had, Jack Frost would do all to ensure the Taliesin Clan lived on through the Seven Brightest Lights and through them, his memories of Berk and the Dragon Riders would survive as well.  He appreciated the Big Four's concern and attempts to stop him from fading but he was not about to shy away from the consequences of his decision.  Jack was ready.But when has Jackson Overland's—or, for that matter Jack Frost's—life ever been that normal?
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Jack Frost (Rise of the Guardians)
Series: Heart of a Dragon's Soul [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/672278
Comments: 228
Kudos: 364





	1. Various Views

**Author's Note:**

> The long awaited Hidden World adaptation has arrived. Though, just know this one is currently on the backburner to The Druid of Dragon's Edge but I really wanted to post something today since it's Leap Day! 
> 
> Please enjoy.

Many tales have a variety of beginnings. For Jack Frost, it was emerging from a pond in the dead of winter with the Moon whispering his name into his ear and only that. For Jackson Overland, his mother—Kári Overland—would say his story began with hours upon hours of labor and pain-filled screams drowned out by the howling winds only for the clouds to finally drop the first snowstorm of winter when the sharp cries of her son taking his first breath echoed off the walls of their cabin. Yet, one could argue Jack Frost’s story began the day he became the Guardian of Fun and Jackson Overland’s tale began upon waking up in an unknown cabin on Berk, hundreds of years in the past.

All four were beginnings. The births of Jackson Overland and Jack Frost. The initial stages of the Guardian of Fun’s and the Druid of Berk’s adventures. They were all for the same story, just different points in time, seen from different perspectives. But none were the true beginnings, because there were always events that took place prior—a self-sacrifice to save a frightened little sister, a clan of Druids slowly dying out until the sole survivor was married off to a Christian, a battle in a century’s old war against fear that turned the tables on Pitch Black, a clash at Santoff Claussen’s boards to protect the last remaining sorcerer of Atlantis’s sanctuary—to the stories’ beginning which shaped the tale.

As many tales would have it, there are multiple beginnings; it just depends on who is telling the story. For this tale, there are multiple beginnings, multiple perspectives, multiple events that shape the outcome of this story. So listen, and listen well, to the following events which took place before our story begins.

* * *

On the outskirts of Burgess, there is a small pond surrounded by a variety of large trees. The whole area was scarce, special in a way not many people knew or realized but all interlopers felt. It was in the heaviness of the air, the uncanny silence of the trees, and the deathly stillness of the water that left many people unsettled to the point they subconsciously avoided the area. Not even the wildlife that inhabited the space surrounding the clearing made much noise and the few brave critters who ventured into the area were silent and the least disruptive as possible, almost as if they were an uninvited guest entering the house of someone far greater.

Throughout the history of Burgess, no man laid claim to the land and those foolish enough to try quickly learned the error of their ways. It was decided, a little over a half-century ago, when the last real estate development company went bankrupt within six months of purchasing the property and the head contractor had a slight mental break from reality that the pond and the area surrounding were made into a historical landmark. They named the area Hawthorne and left it to nature.

For the last fifty or so years, the property was left undisturbed but not untouched. For, while the adults steered clear of the land, the children of Burgess made the area their playground. Unlike the adults of the town who experienced chills running down their spines and the unease impression of intruding on something, the children felt none of that. Those with the eyes of a child, unclouded by the veils of adulthood and ignorance, always felt welcomed and protected by the land.

For seven children, that feeling was amplified.

“ _Astryce_ ,” the trees ruffled in delight as the long-dormant magics of the Old Religion were called forth. The air light and jubilant, almost laughing as the water rippled and exploded from the spell. A yelp soon followed, echoed by a few more voices as droplets rained down on an otherwise cloudless day.

“Pippa Annis Bjorgman, are you trying to razor down the forest?” a boy, no older than ten—eleven at the most—asked in the driest of tone seeing how he’d gotten the brunt of the watery attack thrown his way. As it was, his usual unkempt brown hair was plastered to his head, dripping water into sparkling brown eyes shining with mirth as he wrung out the excess water from his blue hoodie.

“James Percival Bennett, I know what I’m doing,” a girl of the same age shot back, wringing out her braid of reddish-brown hair while the same shade of eyes glared at the boy who was her cousin.

“While not stated in the most delicate of fashions, I must agree with Jamie. The goal was to move the leaf across the pond, not obliterate it. I fear you may have mixed up the _astyre_ spell with the _astryce_ spell. That, or you mispronounced it, whatever the reason, you used the _astryce_ spell for striking instead of that _astyre_ spell for guiding,” a short blond stated as a matter of fact while he finished cleaning off his red glasses and put them over blue eyes. He might have wished he hadn’t, going by the way his eyes widen upon catching sight of Pippa glowering at him, a fist propped up against her hip.

“Monty, dude, I think it’s best you run,” a dark-skinned, dark-eyed boy with hair mostly hidden by a red beanie save for a few dreadlocks hanging off to the left side of his face hissed out in warning.

“Dude, run, now,” agreed a twin of the boy, the only difference being his dark hair was braided back in an intricate style of cornrows.

Taking a gulp, Monty followed the twins’ advice and ran. Pippa was not far behind him. The two boys then looked at one another, matching grins on their face, and fist-bumped. The two froze when large hands clasped them on their shoulder. Following the appendages to the body they were attached to, the twins found themselves looking up at the rather large preteen with brown hair pulled back into two spiky pigtails who was looking down at them with a predatorily gleam in her dark eyes. Not even the fact she was wearing a bright pink shirt with a unicorn on it could stop the boys from gulping.

“Caleb, Claude, I do believe you just volunteered to practice with me,” the girl’s grin became wider with the growing looks of horror on their faces. They tried to make a run for it but the preteen’s grip on their shoulders prevented them from escaping. Thus, they were dragged to the pond where a blonde-haired child around five years of age was crouched down near the edge of the pond.

“Hi Cupcake,” the child greeted, not bothering to pull her emerald-colored eyes away from the surface of the water.

“Sophie, watcha doing there?” Cupcake returned the greeting, releasing her two captives who didn’t bother to run away but instead crouch down next to the younger girl and peered into the water were images from around the clearing keep flickering about.

“Practicing my hy-dro-man-cy,” Sophie chirped happily, being extra careful to correctly pronounce the scrying technique she had an affinity for. “I got it on my fourth try.”

“That’s great Sophie,” Caleb praised the girl, holding up a hand to form a rabbit with his fist, watching the image of himself do the same. Before he could create a different animal, the image split and reformed, showing a picture of Jamie sending a red leaf sailing across the pond with the rest of the group standing behind him, clearly cheering him on.

“That—that hasn’t happened yet,” Claude pointed out, tucking his dreadlocks back up into his beanie.

“But when is it?” Cupcake pondered, leaning a little closer to study the image. “We’re all wearing the same clothing as we are now, but Monty’s jacket sleeve is torn here.”

As the words left her mouth, the sound of fabric ripping split the air causing the images in the water to dissipate all together and group to look up to see a sheepish looking Pippa holding the sleeve of Monty’s jacket.

“Well, that answers that,” the twins spoke as one before Caleb called out to the boy still attempting to rid his clothing of water. “Hey, Jamie, it’s your turn.”

“Cool! And I have just the spell for it!” the brunet grinned, plucking a red leaf from the ground and placing it on the water’s surface. “Here goes nothing: _þoden_.”

A sudden wind rushed through the trees, creating a whirlwind that not only sent the leaf fluttering across the pond but also pulled a bunch of other debris along for the ride. None of the children could hold back their excited shouts and joy as they cheered the little leaf to go further. All exactly how Sophie had foreseen in her scrying. What was not foreseen was the praise coming from behind that had all the children whirling around, their faces lighting up in joy.

“Very impressive, James,” an aged woman with silvery-white hair pulled up in a bun praised. Wrinkle worn hands tapped out the rhythm of the whirlwind’s magic from their place on top of the wooden walking cane she had situated in front of her person. The large yellow shawl draped across hunched shoulders and over a thick brown dress didn’t look like much, but the thread stitching shimmered unlike anything natural.

“Granny Overland!”

“Granny Helga!”

The group ran to greet the elderly woman with the exuberance only a child had. Well, most of them anyway, one child held back. Biting her lip, she idly fiddled with the pendant on her necklace while glancing back at the leaf now drifting across the pond. Looking back at the rest of her friends, she found them now chattering on indistinguishably from one another to Helga Overland, Elder of the Taliesin Clan.

A soft breeze and the sound of leaves crunching was all the warning Pippa got but she wasn’t surprised to hear the soft silvery voice coming from behind her. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

Turning slightly, the young girl attempted a smile at the newcomer, but going by the downward turn of his lips, she didn’t quite succeed. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” the teenaged boy replied, plopping down uncaringly into the bed of multicolored leaves, unconcerned for dirtying his brown pants. Then again, with how they were frayed at the edges and tapered to his skinny legs with leather cords, the leaves couldn’t do any more damage. “Talk to me Pippa, we’re family.”

Pippa, despite her distressed state, couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. They looked nothing alike. For where her hair was on the dark side his was light as the snow; where her eyes reflected the earth, his reflected the sky; where she was mortal, he was a spirit but none of that could change the fact they were family. For where Helga Overland—Pippa’s great-grandmother—was a descendant of Kári Overland, Jack Frost was the spirit of her son, making them distantly related.

Gathering up her courage, the girl held up the pendant as much as the chain allowed. “Granny Helga gave me this. It’s a crystal—”

“From the Crystal Cave. I know,” the white-haired eternal teenager smiled weakly, placing his hand into the pocket of the blue hoodie he wore. “It belonged to my sister.”

Feeling the tears prick in her eyes, Pippa fought down the sudden urge to cry. “I’m—”

“Don’t apologize, Princess, there’s nothing to apologize for. That her crystal is still around to be passed on and not lost means a lot to me. I hope you’re not upset thinking I’d be disappointed with you for wearing Flee’s crystal.” Slowly, the girl shook her head negatively, not trusting her voice just yet. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. Unless you’re worried about becoming the Heir to the Taliesin Clan?”

“H—how did you know?” Pippa blurted out, now that her fear was voiced by someone other than herself.

“Well, as the former heir, I think I should know if a successor has been appointed,” Jack grinned, leaning over to ruffle her auburn locks. “I take it you’re upset with this? Why? I think you’ll make a great heir.”

“B—bu—but I can’t even get a simple spell right! Jamie’s so much better at spells than I am and Sophie! Granny Helga said scrying is one of the hardest things to do, but Sophie’s really good at it, better than someone even four times her age! Then there’s me who can’t even get a simple spell right. I don’t know why Granny Helga even picked me over them.”

Feeling a light touch on her chest, he looked down to see a figure gently pressed over her heart. “She picked you because of this. You may not be the best at spells like Jamie or have an affinity for scrying like Sophie, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less special. Helga Overland picked you because you have the tenacity for it.”

“Tenacity?” the child parroted in a small voice.

“Yes,” Jack grinned. “When you and the rest of the Seven Brightest Lights expressed an interest in learning magic, I was thrilled but learning spells doesn’t make one a Druid. To be a Druid means more than that, it is a way of life filled with traditions and customs and while Jamie has clearly shown his potential as a leader, do you really think he’d sit still long enough to learn the philosophy of the Old Religion? What of diplomacy?”

Pippa snorted and shook her head, knowing that while her cousin was happy to read about the things that interested him, he practically had ADHD when it came to anything else. He was passionate about what he believed in, that was for sure, and uncompromising in those beliefs, which was an admirable quality to an extent. But he took it a little too far at times and when added with his lack of tact problems arose.

“Exactly, which rules him out as a suitable Head of the Taliesin Clan. He excels when he’s under pressure, relying on his instincts, and it’s worked well for him so far. Because of him, you were able to purify Sandy’s Dreamsand and draw him back from the prison Pitch sealed him in. But what if it had required a ritual to purify the corrupted Dreamsand? Jamie’s instinct wouldn’t be able to help him there.”

Pippa cringed, knowing that Jamie was as good as rituals as he was at studying, which was to say, very bad.

“Besides,” Jack continued, “he’s determined to create the equivalent of the Berk Guard for the Taliesin Clan and you can bet he’ll want to be the Head Priest of this new sect. He couldn’t handle doing that and being the Head of the Clan at the same time.

“And Sophie? Sophie has already started down the path to becoming the first High Priestess in centuries. That is if she puts her mind to it. Your cousins, your family, are ambitious, but no less so than you are. Jamie will need someone to temper his fervor with common sense and Sophie needs someone to push her along and guide her and that someone is you. Because you are the best candidate for the position, Pippa.

“You dove into your lessons with both me and Elder Overland and absorbed the knowledge like a bookworm. Never did you become discouraged when any of the other Lights bested you in any field. Instead, you celebrated their success with them and provided encouragement when their failures brought them down. You bring balance to your family, to your friends, to your clan, Pippa, and that is what is at the center of the Old Religion: Balance. The Balance of Nature, the Balance of Life and Death, balance is what you provide. There is no doubt Jamie has the physical covered, while Sophie leans more towards the spiritual, but you are the mental component and together, you three will be an unstoppable force. That’s why you were chosen to be the next Heir of the Taliesin Clan. Never doubt that.”

The little girl, older than Jack remembered Flee ever being when he was alive, sniffled in the very same manner his sister once had. It was his only warning but it was enough to prepare him for Pippa launching herself at the spirit, wrapping her arms around his neck and embracing him in a giant hug. Grateful sobs and choked words of gratitude mashed together in an indecipherable jumble of sounds.

“No problem, Princess,” the spirit whispered into the little girl’s ear before releasing her. “Now why don’t you go join the others for another one of Elder Overland’s lessons before she gets suspicious of you hanging out here by yourself and tries to purify the land to exorcise any lingering spirits? Specifically: me. I don’t think I could survive such a thing for a…what is it now, the sixth? Twelfth time? Surely, I will pass on if she tries again.”

“Four Jack,” Pippa rolled her eyes as the eternal teenager swooned dramatically. “Granny Helga has only tried to exorcise you four times and you can’t blame her. She can’t see you Mr. Guardian of Fun.”

“Four, twelve, same difference. Now go on and listen to your lessons Princess of the Taliesin Clan. Shoo-shoo, off with ya,” Jack nudged the girl forward but still Pippa lingered.

The two stared each other down before the spirit got the other to crack with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Are you going to be sticking around?”

“I was thinking about heading out.”

“Oh, well, I was thinking, maybe, if you stayed, we could have a snowball fight after Granny Helga’s lesson, yah? That is if you wanted to.”

The Guardian of Fun couldn’t keep the smile from his face and didn’t try. He always had a weak spot for kids and it was nearly impossible for him to say no to any of the children occupying the clearing. Not that he ever wanted to.

“You bet,” the eternal teenager agreed and watched as the girl happily skipped towards the rest of the group. Jack sighed in content, just watching as Helga—sitting on a stump—began her lesson on the Balance of Nature while seven children gathered around her listening in fascination. For the most part. Jamie was fidgeting; clearly, not all that interested in learning about the different elements but a nudge from Pippa and her discreetly placing a fidget spinner in his hands solved the problem.

They’d all come so far in such a short time. It hadn’t even been a full year since Helga Overland began teaching them while Jack supplemented their lessons with his own as often as he could. Most children could care less about the basics, let alone have a rudimentary understanding of the philosophy behind it, but not the Little Lights. They were bright and on par with the children of the Great Purge era, which was impressive when the average children in that time period knew more about magic than the veteran sorcerers of his era.

Moreover, their individual skills and affinities for certain magics were already starting to show through which was unheard of in this day and age. Then again, magic was unheard of in this day and age, so Jack couldn’t be sure if it was due to the times or just their magical aptitude. Instead, he focused on an even more interesting aspect of the Little Lights’ magic which seemed to correlate to their favorite Guardian of Childhood.

Caleb—who favored the Guardian of Wonder—excelled at transfiguration, creating objects just as Santa Claus created toys, transforming raw materials into something wonderful. Claude, on the other hand, had an affinity for earth and plants in general, coaxing normal trees to grow and flowers to bloom just as the Easter Bunny brought Hope and new beginnings with spring. The Guardian of Dreams’ favorite child had a knack for charms that pleased the Sandman to no end when he received a small rock that played different melodies depending on who was holding it and their mood. As for Cupcake, she took her love of the Sisterhood of Flight and unicorns and expanded her knowledge of Creatures of Magic from there.

Then there were the Overland descendants and they too took after their favorite Guardian. Wind and water combined to make ice and snow, but separately, they were Jamie’s and Sophie’s affinities respectively. As for Pippa, despite her misgivings about not being the best choice as the next clan head, she had a knack for rune work which the spirit encouraged and taught her a few of his own designs. Jack couldn’t have been prouder of them; all of them.

“I see your Little Lights are getting on well, young warlock.”

“Gaah!” Jack flailed, almost losing his balance if it weren’t for the winds rushing through the clearing and pushing him upright; maybe a bit too hard since he ended up floating a few feet above the ground clutching his heart and pouting at the sudden appearance of an elderly man.

The white of the visitor’s hair gleamed in the light. His beard short and clean-cut which was odd considering he was wearing an old ragged piece of material sewn horribly into what could have been a cloak at one time that was more brown with dirt and grim than with any dyes. Underneath the sad excuse of a cloak was an equally sad tunic that at one point could have been blue but now the exact color was indeterminable. Breeches made from various animal hides seemingly completed his outfit but eternal blue eyes easily caught sight of the small, thread triskele embroidered with painstaking accuracy partly hidden in the folds of his cloak.

“Why do you insist on calling me a young warlock?”

An eyebrow quirked upwards as the white-haired spirit all but whined petulantly. “Because you are a warlock and young compared these mere bags of bones.”

“Point the first, spirits don’t technically have bones. Point the second, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there is nothing mere about The Taliesin, The First Warlock, and sentinel of the Crystal Cave. Point the third, are you going to ever let me live down the ‘mere’ comment?” the younger spirit looked pointedly at the elderly man who appeared to be part of the earth itself.

“I am merely using a word, if you find more meaning in my mere vocabulary, it is merely a coincidence,” Taliesin pointed out. “Also, I noticed you didn’t refute the old portion of that statement.”

The eternal teenager rolled his eyes. “You’re right. But—” blues eyes raked up and down the shabbily dressed man, “—if the shoe fits.”

While Taliesin did not sputter in indignation, it was a near thing given how both of his eyebrows shot upward. “Young warlock, I feel as though you forget who I am, and what I am still capable of despite our spectral state.”

“That’s not something either of us could forget,” the light-hearted atmosphere shattered as the younger spirit shrugged nonchalantly, looking off to the side. “Me most of all.”

“I take it your meeting with Ombric and the scholars of Big Root didn’t go so well?”

“It went the same as it has the last dozen or so times. They poked and prodded me, tried a few more spells and rituals, had me take off the relic to watch as I flicker, and then poked and prodded me some more,” Jack huffed, the irritation clear in his voice.

“Ah, so you came back here to unwind and see what progress the future of our clan has made,” Taliesin commented, eyes drifting over to the group of children that would someday be all that was left of their clan.

The Little Lights—an apt name, if Taliesin did say so himself—might not understand, not just yet, but the young warlock had told them in not so many words of his limited time left. They may have interpreted it to mean their impending transition to adulthood via becoming teenagers would cease their ability to see the Guardians of Childhood and Jack hadn’t corrected them of their misconception. He didn’t want to scare them with the idea of him fading from existence. Instead, he dove in to sharing with them the teachings of the Taliesin Clan and showing them spells with the time he had left.

Time, Taliesin knew, he had very little of.

Jack could probably feel the lingering draconic magic inside of him close to severing the celestial energy tying him to this plane completely. The spirit of the Crystal Cave, however, had already seen it. The visions were disturbingly similar in nature to the one he had just before meeting with the Guardian of Fun the first time around. He'd witnessed many different variations of the younger spirit’s last days on earth, but never the exact point he disappeared. Taliesin could only wait for the time to come and watch through his crystal to see what happened, just as he had done when Jack had picked the path which led them to this very point in time all those months ago.

“So, what brings you here?” Jack broke the uncomfortable silence.

Taliesin’s left eyebrow twitch at the question, remembering why he’d left his post at the Crystal Cave for the first time in centuries. “It seems that I am not enough to entertain the guest you left in my care.”

Jack blinked once in confusion. He blinked again in realization. Then he burst out in laughter.


	2. A Mother's Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you lovely readers and reviewer who've warmed my heart with encouragement and excitement for this final installment for HoaDS; thank you. Words are not enough for me to express how good it makes me feel to know you've stuck with this series despite everything. I hope you all will continue to support me in whatever way you can, be it through kudos, reviews, artwork, quotes, gifs, gift fics, or any other way. They are what keeps me motivate.

The glacier was like no other. Not even the Dragon Sanctuary the great Bewilderbeast created for his flock was anywhere near as magnificent or as mystical as this. The ice appeared as if were flowing upwards into a bowl-like shape with two peaks surrounding it and the pristine, whitest of snow dusted the surface. The winds embraced the sea, traveling up until they reached the tallest peaks before doubling back around and heading outwards at a much greater speed, as if for the sole purpose of pushing them away from the glacier. 

Light blue eyes glanced down at the compass held delicately in the palm of her hand, preventing the talons of her bracers from damaging the cherished piece as she confirmed the needle was indeed pointing directly before her. Though, where the rune for north should have been there was a small depiction of a light blue Vinca flower instead.

“This is the place,” the woman spoke, snapping the lid of the compass closed as she stared down at the inviting surface with a foreboding feeling. Another bout of wind surging by, blowing three greying auburn braids over her shoulder and despite the many layers of leather, fur, and even a few pieces of metal armor that covered nearly every inch of her slim figure bulking her up to nearly twice her size, she still felt the bitter, biting cold. “It looks like we found it. What do you say about getting a closer look, Cloudjumper?”

The Stormcutter cocked his head to the side to look up at her and let out a worrisome coo. 

Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves, Valka raised her staff and spun it around. The air passing through the holes whistled and with a jab towards the ice, Cloudjumper descended towards the snow-covered ground. Yet, the dragon jerked back up at the last second, causing Valka to stumble on the dragon’s back for the first time in years. She didn’t fall off—hadn’t since she was first learning to fly—but it was close. Cloudjumper whined as he stared down at the flurry of powder thrown about with each flap of his wings just a few feet below him and growled when she urged him to land.

Light blue eyes narrowed, searching the surface for anything out of the ordinary or buried in the snow and couldn’t find anything amiss. Further attempts to cajole the Stormcutter into landing were met with refusals and warning growls. With nothing but snow and ice in sight and no other options, Valka didn’t hesitate to make the jump. She should have landed on her feet with no problems. She’d made many similar jumps at much greater distances without a problem in the past but the moment she touched the ground, it felt as if gravity doubled. The air forced from her lungs as she braced herself on her hands, else she would have ended up face first in the softest of snow.

Breathing heavily, the Dragon Warrior forced herself to remain calm as supple leather boots stepped into view.

“Thou should not underestimate thy frailty.”

Valka nearly snarled but clicked her mouth shut at the last second as light blue orbs followed the pair of boots wrapped around delicate legs up to the knees. There, trousers better suited for a summer day were neatly tucked into the boots, providing little protection against the elements even with the extra layer of leg wrappings that began just above her knees. Valka struggled to lift her head further, catching a glimpse of the long light blue tunic elaborately embroidered with silver thread that could have been taken from the stars with the way it shimmered unnaturally as it fluttered in the wind. Not that the pale creature standing before her held any concern for the elements as lips the color of frozen mulberries turned up in delight as snow twirl around them.

Off to the left stood the twin of the ethereal beauty standing before the Dragon Warrior. However, while her companion’s hair was a wave of free-flowing white hair, hers was kissed by the sun, held up off her neck in an elegant bun brimming with flowering vines. Whereas her twin wore the colors of the elements surrounding them, she donned the tones of summer with earthy greens and woodland browns. If not for their identical blue cat-slitted eyes, the two might have been mistaken for strikingly beautiful women instead of the creatures they were.

“Fae,” Valka addressed the white-haired creature she had first glimpsed on the fateful day Berk was encased in ice. Vaguely, the aging woman recalled her son addressing the creature with a name, but she hadn’t been paying too much attention. Her life having been upturned and then shattered within a too short of a timeframe for her to remember every detail. 

Never would she have expected the glimpse of a Night Fury gliding up into the clouds would lead her here. 

Valka’s first thought upon the chance sighting of the black dragon disappearing up into the clouds was that her aging eyes were deceiving her. There was no way she just saw a dragon hunted to extinction by The Night Fury Killer flying in her skies. Yet, as Cloudjumper slowly approached the black dragon to keep from frightening the magnificent beast, there was no mistaken the dragon for anything other than a Night Fury. Her initial reaction was to bring the endangered dragon back to the Dragon Sanctuary but her plans quickly changed when Valka saw the human on the Night Fury’s back.

Valka never could have imagined the human riding on the back of a dragon would turn out to be her son.

She thought she’d been dreaming when Stoick showed up not a day later. To hear both of her boys talking about dragons living peacefully on Berk, it was as if she was living in a fantasy. Only it wasn’t a fantasy. It was real. The Rumblehorn her once dragon killer of a husband introduced her was proof that things could change, that Berk _had_ changed in her absence.

But the Norns could be as cruel as they were kind. 

Valka only had her family back together for less than a day when Drago’s armada finally found the Dragon Sanctuary. The Alpha Dragon’s death had thrown her out of her dreamy daze and back into the harsh confines of reality. There was no she could have prepared herself for the Bewilderbeast’s demise, but she handled it. Stoick’s brush with death, however, nearly crushed her. The warrior knew little of the teen who sacrificed his life in exchange for the lives of her family and only garnered a little more from the young men and women who’d fought on the backs of dragons under her son’s command as they sent the boy’s body off to Valhalla. Nevertheless, there was no time to mourn the loss of a friend when the rest of the Bewilderbeast’s flock and the Hairy Hooligan Tribe hung in the balance. 

The Dragon Warrior had little hope they could win now she knew Drago not only had an Alpha Dragon under his thumb but one who had defeated the Bewilderbeast she’d seen as indomitable even at his weakest and he had been unusually lackluster during the last few seasons. But, Stoick had been right all those years ago when he’d announced over a wee Hiccup who hadn’t been expected to live through the night that the baby would surpass them all. He and his Night Fury challenged Drago’s Bewilderbeast and done the impossible. 

They won. 

By right of conquest, the Night Fury was the new alpha and her son rose to his rightful place as Chieftain.

Valka had thought it over then. But alas, no, for a fae— _a_ _fae—_ stepped foot on the Isle of Berk and without much fanfare, proclaimed the new chief a Dragonlord. An occurrence which was quickly overshadowed by the frozen destruction shifting. The ice flowing as if it were its liquid counterpart rather than a solid. Seeping down huts, it trickled around their feet to gather in various locations around Berk. There the ice reformed, taking on the shapes of various dragons. 

Gasps and whispers rose from the crowd only to fall silent a second later as snowflakes began to drift down around the Night Fury statue located where her son was encased in ice. Bit by bit, the snowflakes came together and formed another sculpture of ice. A perfect replica of Hiccup Haddock the Third, Chieftain. The people of the tribe took it as a sign from the gods that they bore witness to the victory and bestowed the statues as a show of their favor. 

The feast that ensued all but erased the presence of the fae and her proclamation from Valka’s mind. It was only after she and the remains of the Bewilderbeast’s flock began settling in on Berk over the next few weeks that things took a turn. The fleeting glimpses of colorful orbs in the corner of her eyes didn’t disappear and were far from a trick of the light as she’d assumed them to be when she first took notice of a small burnt-orange light in the frenzied flight to Berk on the back of the baby Scuttleclaws. It took some time before she recognized them for what they were.

Fae.

And they were every _where_.

A blonde woman who proudly wore the crest of the Commander of the Berk Guard was regularly seen talking with a purple orb in the Great Hall, a trio of the creatures drifted around that one Viking who always had a bucket on his head as he docked a longboat, and they even interacted with the _children_ without anyone batting an eye. The fae were there and no one questioned their presence. Moreover, the tribe welcomed them, often dropping various items in small Rowan wood bowls outside their door for the fae in exchange for a tiny favor.

When she questioned a blonde teenaged Viking about the practice, his blue eyes dimmed as he absentmindedly moved closer to the Typhoomerang accompanying him but he did tell her that while Hiccup Haddock made peace with the dragons, Jackson Overland opened relationships between Berk and the fae. It was only then the Dragon Warrior vaguely recalled the white-haired woman’s existence. Though, it too was overshadowed by the realization the fae didn’t just visit Berk but they _lived_ there too. She would have asked the young Viking additional questions, but before she could two dark-haired youths had beckoned him to their sides and they’d disappeared through the busy streets still rebuilding after the invasion.

From then on, Valka kept an eye out and the more she paid attention instead of confining herself to the dragons and her boys, the more she saw. The more she saw, the more she came to grasp with the notion Berk and the Hairy Hooligan Tribe were not as she remembered. Berk and her people changed and the fae she was so worried about had little to do with those changes. 

The wooden structures she’d passed by every day without fail were sturdy and well maintained, yet when she looked at them, light blue eyes found elegant carvings on nearly every surface. Something which was hardly ever seen during her years in Berk when the average hut lasted around two months before dragonfire burnt it to ash. The more extravagant huts and quite a few of the tall dragon friendly constructs were vibrant with color, brightening up the once dreary village and lightening the mood.

The tribe’s members were friendlier too. She’d seen an older man draped in robes—whom she later learned was the Head of Berk’s Crafts Guild—handing out carved trinkets to anyone who’d ask and refused anything offered in compensation. More than once she’d seen the on-duty sentries from the Berk Guard share their meals rations with a few glowing orbs and a Terrible Terror or two. Then there was the massive blonde Viking who’d often bring barrels filled with fruit drown from his orchard and hand them out to children while telling them fantastic tales of gods and goddesses, kings and warlocks, dragons and fae every few days. 

Even the children would assist one another with their chores before heading out to play together as a group rather than waiting for the others to finish on their own. Children who adored dragons and fae alike, who worshipped her son as if he were one of the gods himself rather than the chief. Children who wanted to one day be a part of the Dragon Riders and now that Valka was finally looking, she finally saw the group of men and women her son surrounded himself with for what they were. 

The Dragon Warrior had dismissed them as she’d dismissed the white-haired fae. What little she’d knew of them came from the ambush at the Dragon Sanctuary and the battle at Berk. How they handled themselves against Drago and his army lead her to the opinion that they were mediocre at best. She didn’t hold much faith in their abilities and thus, discarded them from her mind. 

How wrong she’d been to do so. 

Valka didn’t understand the true breadth of their capabilities until a week after she began watching. During the entirety of her son’s time as chief, there had been no public council meeting despite the attack on Berk and change in leadership. The tribe hadn’t needed one; Drago might have knocked them around, but collectively, the Hairy Hooligan Tribe stood back up, brushed off the attacked, and dug their feet in. They would not be cowed. Instead, they moved forward. Rebuilding what had been destroyed and, if there were a few whispers of vengeance, that was to be expected, they were Vikings after all. 

However, the people needed their chief. They needed to see their leader standing tall after their near crushing defeat. They needed to hear his words of reassurance to soothe the whispers of retaliation. Thus, her son was forced to call his first official council meeting as the new Chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe.

The Great Hall was filled. All of Berk was present save for the unlucky sentries on duty and no one spoke a word as Hiccup made his way to the high table. When he took his seat in the largest chair at the center of the table with the Night Fury at his back, a current ran through the crowd when he raised his hand and made a simple gesture. A ripple of murmurs arose when the wrong blonde shieldmaiden took the seat reserved for the Commander of the Berk Guard on his left only to be silenced with a glare as the younger Jorgenson took the chair to her son’s right. Soon the rest of the chairs were filled, but not by any of the older generation, though a few of them stood back behind their successors’ chairs in an apparent display of support.

The Hofferson woman—who was announced as the Captain of the Defenders of the Berk Guard when given the go-ahead to speak—coolly stood in before her chair and directly addressed the seated chief, yet she spoke loud enough for all those in the Great Hall to hear. She didn’t shy away from detailing how their defenses had failed to hold back Drago’s armadas and took responsibility for those failures. The grave news was quickly followed by new strategical plans being implemented to prevent another such attack to quash the growing concern the masses had before it festered into something more. 

With a nod to the Commander standing behind her chair, she took her seat allowing the brawny brunet on her son’s other side to take over. The Jorgenson didn’t bother to stand as he plainly laid out the death toll—less than a dozen, a surprisingly small count considering what they’d faced—naming names of those brave valiant Vikings and shieldmaiden who lost their lives defended Berk’s borders. He spoke of the trio of ships they lost to the approaching armada and mentioned how more lives could have been lost if not for some trainees' quick thinking and rescue work. He ended his report with an offhand reference to the influx of new recruits ready to step up and fill the gaps left in the Berk Guard.

On the other side of the Jorgenson, a dark-haired shieldmaiden—who was by no means a member of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe as far as Valka could tell by the way she proudly bore the crest of a Berserker—stepped up. She was meticulous with her intel, having exact times, dates, and locations of where Drago’s armada headed after his defeat before splitting into several different fractions. The shieldmaiden mentioned a few tribes she had keeping an eye on the different fractions along with speculations on where they could be heading and why. She expertly held back her emotions but some of them managed to bleed to the surface when she indicated a rather substantial group of ships were heading towards Outpost Island. 

This garnered a reaction from nearly everyone in the room but it was the first time any of those at the high table did as well. Her son wasn’t the exception. Hiccup’s hand clenched into a fist and a frown etched into his face, but otherwise, he didn’t react as the crowd roared to life. Instead, he motioned for the burly blond on Astrid’s other to step forward. He did so and with a rap on the table, the Great Hall fell silent.

The Ingerman—judging by his appearance and the helmet the bore a striking resemblance to those worn by Loyal Order of Ingerman—took a deep breath and morosely listed the districts most affected by Drago’s attack along with a brief description of the sectors repaired, the work-in-progress zones and the problem areas. Hiccup hummed before waving a hand towards the Craftsman Guild Master and one Scruffnut Thorston requested the trio work together to deal with the logistic of acquiring further materials and a list of priorities for those still waiting for repairs. The burly Viking nodded and took his seat to give the floor to the twins. Though, given that they were in the middle of arguing with one another, it seemed likely there would be nothing coming from them, and yet, with the chief clearing his throat, they fell into line.

Sharing a look, the blonde Viking stood and shared the news several visiting delegates from allied tribes would be arriving within the week. Many of them would be bringing much-needed supplies and to reaffirm their alliances with the new chief. There would be a big banquet at the end of the week to honor their guests—here the male twin took over—along with an exhibition Dragon Racing match. This would be followed by an open tournament for anyone wishing to participate. 

Valka saw it for what it really was for.

Such an event so soon after an invasion was nothing more than a display of strength. The large gathering would no doubt invite spies into their weathered home but the tournament would showcase the skill of their warriors. A warning to the rest of the Barbaric Archipelago that they would not fall and an excellent way to boost their morale.

Nodding, Hiccup gave a few reassuring words and opened the floor to the public for any lingering concerns. Valka watched as between her son and his council, there were answers and solutions for most of the problems brought to their attention, and for those they didn’t, promises were given to have one of them look into it. Watching them work in tandem, the Dragon Warrior knew now this wasn’t a group full of blundering mediocre youths. This was a council of well-trained young men and women, built on experience and trust. 

Yet.

There was something _off_ with their dynamics. Something she only noticed because she was looking. 

When a particular question came up, there was a momentary pause as if they were expecting the other to fill it only for both the Berserker shieldmaiden and the Jorgenson to stumble over each other to answer. The twins would make a gesture only to be met with silence whereas the hefty blond would cut himself off midsentence and correct himself. The young captain would look to her side, a comment on her lips, only for blue eyes to spend a moment searching for something not there. Valka didn’t understand the missteps and odd gestures, but they clearly meant something. The most telling thing, however, came with their departed, a space—a void—was left between themselves and their chief as they exited. 

The Dragon Warrior wished she had more time to observe her son and his council in hopes of figuring out their problem yet there wasn't the time. The week flew by faster than she anticipated with the number of delegates arriving by the day. Though, calling them delegates was a bit misleading. More often than not, it was the chiefs or leaders themselves arriving in the place of some lowly representative to speak on their behalf, the only exception was the Northern Wanderer Tribe, and Hamish sent his apologies as both the chief and as a member of House Haddock for being unable to make it himself. 

She expected two or three tribes to show with a handful of their people in tow. The sheer number of people that did show up was not what she expected. The fleets of ships sailing into Berk’s docks under various banners was more than the small harbor could handle and many had to be anchored out in the bay to accommodate them all. Various smaller boats ferried the envoys to shore where they were properly greeted.

Valka anticipated the Berserker Tribe what with the dark-haired shieldmaiden wearing the crest of Oswald the Agreeable on her son’s council. She was not, however, expecting the redheaded chief to call out a greeting to his brother and when she looked for a second dark-haired Viking, light blue eyes widen when the man proceeded to clasps Hiccup’s arm in a tight hold, pulling him close to whisper something into his ear. Seeing Alvin the Treacherous, Chief of the Outcast Tribe, dock and proceed to pull the Berk Guard’s Commander into a tight comforting hug as he wished her his condolences was even further out of the ordinary. The day the Atali and a group of her maidens from Wingmaiden Island arrive, greeting the blonde twin as a fellow Wingmaiden had her breath catching. That was nothing in comparison to Queen Mala of the Defender of the Wing having left her island and make the journey to Berk’s shore, but there she was, speaking amicably with the Jorgenson.

All of the honored guests had sat with herself and her family at the Dragon Race exhibition match. Nothing much was said she could hear during the matches, but it was evident they held Hiccup in high regard. Valka was a bit confused by the looks they kept throwing over her son’s shoulder before turning back to the races. For most, it was rather hard to tell what was going on, since they hid their emotions well, but their eyes betrayed them and a certain sadness lingered. Hiccup must have picked up on it as well because he’d stepped out during the feast and easily slipped away into the night on his Night Fury. 

The only reason Valka knew where to find him was because of a passing comment between Stoick and the blonde storyteller about a cove. She was hesitant to leave her husband’s side despite the village healer announcing—err, writing—his rather miraculous recovery. The man himself stated he felt better than he had in years though his eyes carried a weight to them they never held before. Valka convinced herself that Stoick would be fine without her hovering about as he traded stories with Gobber and a few other men she didn’t know over tankards of mead and slipped out after her son. The small headstart he had put her at a huge disadvantage. The speed of his Night Fury wasn’t something to be trifled with and with the countless coves around the island, it took Cloudjumper and her some time to find him again. She almost flew over it if not for a flickering of firelight that guided her in. 

The Dragon Warrior landed outside of the cove and taken a rather well-worn trail down into the sunken in land. At first, she didn’t see anything except for a burning campfire with a green Terrible Terror guarding what looked to be a pot of stew bubbling away over the flames. The tiny dragon hissed upon her arrival but when she made no move towards the stew, he ignored her in favor of looking off towards a towering tree. It was only then she saw the carefully crafted hut situated between the dangling roots. The door left wide open, revealing the strong shoulder of her son hunched over as he just stood there staring into nothing.

She wasn’t sure what to think because, for the first time since arriving in Berk, Valka finally admitted to herself she didn’t know much about her son. She’s spent too much time away and now that she was back, she held herself back at a distance. Focusing more on assistance Gobber with removing the last of the Drago’s armor from the enslaved dragons’ hides and checking on her flock who were slowly moving away from her side to merge with Berk’s. The most time she’s spent with either of her boys was during supper, where there were stilted discussions of dragons and various chiefly duties as Hiccup picked at his food. They sometimes brought up stories about the past, but more often than not, they skirt around a particular topic.

It took her longer than she would like to admit to piece together all the fragments. The abrupt change in topics during conversations. The lingering looks and futile searches for something just not there. The miasma of sorrow and sadness haunted the village. There was nothing _off_ about any of it. There was a gaping void where some _one_ should have been. Her son, his council, the tribe—by the Gods—even the visiting chiefs, they were all mourning the one name that had gone unmentioned in the list of the dead. 

Valka completely underestimated the impact of Jackson Overland’s death. At that moment, she was just beginning to see how important he was to the people of Berk. The snowflake trinkets the Master Craftsman so readily gave out were mourning tokens. The gathering wasn’t a show of strength but an excuse for their allies—their _friends_ —to come to Berk. The feast wasn’t a celebration, it was a funeral. Stoick and the others she’d left behind were drinking in memory of a boy she knew nothing of. The void at her son’s side. He wasn’t just another friend, another one of his Dragon Riders. He was his—

“ _Elskede!_ ”

The mother nearly choked hearing the heart-wrenching sobs echo from within the hut, wondering how she could have missed _this_. How had she missed something so big? Valka clearly remembered the way Hiccup clung to the teen when he’d pulled the brunet’s body from the ice. The same way she’d been clinging to Stoick at the time, but with his riders closing rank around their vulnerable leader, Valka had not heard her son’s pleas over flapping dragons’ wings as Drago called for his army to fall back.

Now, she could only watch as Hiccup fell to his knees. His Night Fury circling around him in an attempt to provide the comfort she could not. Even from where she stood at a distance, light blue eyes barely made out the trembling of his shoulders as silent sobs wracked his body. Valka willed herself to take a step forward, to be the mother she should have been but a wave of heat had her frozen. Light blue orbs widening as red patterns bleed across her son’s clothed back, dancing amid tense muscles as they spread further and further. Crimson smoldered amidst thick leather armor as heat radiated from the grieving man. 

The Night Fury at his side let out a coo, but Hiccup didn’t seem to hear him. 

He nudged his rider and, in a flash, the crimson ignited. Valka jerked back, horror filling her heart as she realized the radiance wasn’t from the armor he wore but from _him_. Embers seared threw the leather, eating away at the fabric to reveal patches of skin glowing with markings unlike she’d ever seen before. A howl of sorrow tore from Hiccup’s throat as he slammed his hands flat against the wooden floor and fire sprang to life, caressing skin set ablaze with crimson. 

The burning flames awoke her son from his fugue state as a cry of alarmed was torn from his throat. He reared back from the fires but couldn’t find purchase. His struggles had Valka crying out his name as she made to help him but the flames kept her at bay. If anything, the flames lovingly caress him, spreading outwards to stroke harmlessly at black scales while eating everything and anything else in its path. They flared up higher, engulfing the hut and obscuring Valka’s sight. She tried once more to reach her son but the heat pushed her back, forcing her to cover her face else the drifting embers land on her skin. Just as suddenly as the blaze sprung to life, it died with a shout of denial.

Lowering her arms, the Dragon Warrior found the only flames present were those coming from the campfire at her back and the hut was nothing but ash and glowing coals. At the center of the burnt-out hut, Toothless curled around his rider, black scales tinted blue contrasting greatly with the blazing red designs covering nearly every inch of unblemished skin. Pulling the fur wrap from her body, she crept across the still crackling coals and draped it around Hiccup to preserve his modesty. He didn’t look up, not right away, instead slowly opening his tightly grasped hand to reveal a compass. There didn’t seem to be any real damage to the casing, but the flames had somehow damaged it for the needle at the center was spinning about wildly. In his other hand, he clung to a dagger that’s leather-bound hilt should have been burned up in the flames and yet it had remained intact.

“Wh—what have I done? How—?” her son stammered, twisting his arms to get a better look at the crimson crisscrossing his skin. The Night Fury cooed, nudging his arm and slowly the blue glow left his scales as the markings began to fade away as well. A sharp exhale and vivid green eyes were gazing up into light blue orbs. “What is happening to me?”

It was then, Valka vowed, looking down at her son without a single mark on his body that she knew she had to learn more of what the white-haired fae meant when she claimed her son was a Dragonlord. Because it was far more than a title.

Two hands, one a soothing cold and the other a pleasant warmth gripped her around the upper arms and yanked her simultaneously up on to her feet and out of her memories. Once upright, it felt as if the unnatural forces holding her down dissipated and Valka was left to reorient herself back on the freezing glacier and not standing above her son in the burnt-out remains of a hut on Berk.

Shaking her head, she looked to the white-haired fae with a strained smile. “Thank you.”

“Your gratitude is noted and unwelcomed,” the fae released her hold on the Dragon Warrior’s arm, letting her stand on her own two wavering legs. “Thou should not be here; this is sacred ground thee walks upon. If not for I, thou would have drowned in thine memories as the magic takes remuneration from thy soul.”

“I—I don’t understand,” Valka shook her head, trying to further clear her addled mind as more memories attempted to overwhelm her once more.

“Why have thou cometh to find thee self on this sacred ground?” the warmer woman inquired.

“I didn’t come here knowing this was sacred ground, I came here looking for you,” Valka pointed toward the woman’s twin.

“And how have thou cometh to track me down?” the creature asked, eyes zeroing in on how her hand reflexively went to tighten around the miraculously undamaged compass. However, before her hand could fully encompass the piece, the white-haired fae held the compass aloft in her hands. Valka never saw her move. One moment, the compass was with her and the next, the creature held it.

“Give that back!” horror bubbled up inside the Dragon Warrior. The fae’s once beautiful face transformed into something horrifying as an inhuman hiss rent the air. Valka didn’t care, ignored it even in favor of making a grab for the piece. She couldn’t let anything happen to the compass, she’d already taken it without her son’s knowledge. But after hearing Hiccup explain to her it worked, how’d he managed to locate Eret’s ship with the compass, she’d hoped it would be able to do the same for her.

“Thou art a thief.”

“I am not a thief! You stole it from me,” the woman shouted, lunging for the piece only to stumble once more.

“It is not thine compass, twas a courting token between our Druid Emissary to his Dragonlord,” the fae snarled, yet it was the words that had Valka rooted to the spot. Dreed making it's into her stomach. She knew Hiccup cherished the compass; she hadn’t known why but she should have.

“I—I didn’t know, I just needed it to find you,” taking in a shaky breath, she composed herself and held her hand out. “Can I have it back? Please? I need to return it to my son once we’re through here.”

Blue eyes regarded her with a wary look before delicately placing the compass into her outstretched hand. “Why art thou here?”

Gulping down the sudden nerves bubbling over, Valka pulled the compassed to her, clutching it over her heart. “I need answers. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is has been cleaned up and for the record, I don't know why I do this to myself. I had to go back and reread some Shakespeare to emulate the speech patterns for the fae but I'm unsure if I used the correct articles. God, I don't want to write anymore of that stuff again but I know I will. 
> 
> SilvelySilence


	3. Dís Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a nightmare and a half (So, Pitch Black with a dash of angry Emily Jane thrown in) between writing it to expression clear concise rules of magic that were worked into the story organically rather than a list (thank you for making my life so much harder for that Chatroom. You know who I speak of) and the lose of half of the chapter due to unexpected program failure and autosave errors (I told you Madcap, this happens to me way too often despite all the precautions I take), I had a few breakdowns. But thanks to a few DM chats (read THW rants with some amazingly supportive netizens that should be showered in hugs), I was able to work through the writer's block and get this out. And, because I wanted to post this last week AND yesterday (which you can tell never happened), I decided to post the whole thing rather than break it up into two chapter as I was tempted to (THIS IS THE LONGEST CHAPTER EVER [I think? I'm too tired to check.])
> 
> Wiredate: Thank you for commenting! I appreciate it when lurkers who lurk come out to point out things they like but can I just say for once, the parallels between Jack losing his powers with Finn watching and Hiccup gaining his while Valka watched over him was completely unintentional and when you pointed it out, it blew my mind? I don't even...and yet, it is so perfect. Thank you for pointing it out!
> 
> FabLlama02: You do not know how many times I had to put down my writing because I was making myself cry with the last chapter, it is not even funny. Why do you think I keep making jabs at myself?
> 
> Squad: Someone please hold Spyrite down or be there for her while I crash (no joke, I am going to crash, since I already crashed last night [or was it this morning?] while editing this and only got 2 hours of sleep. I guess this is why there is a Sleepless Squad to begin with...)

“Thou art in luck, we hath reached where the north winds meet the sea. Thy answers lie under our feet,” the blonde beckoned, heading inland with her sister at her side.

The answer—if it could even be called an answer—left Valka with even more questions. Questions that she could only get answered if she followed the fae and that was no easy task. Walking through the thick snow was an undertaking upon itself despite the ease in which the two women displayed. The twins glided over the snow, leaving the faintest of imprints quickly covered by the winds. Whereas she, on the other hand, was forced to wade through the cold powder, leaving a trench in her wake.

“Hold up, what do you mean the answers lie under our feet? You didn’t even hear me out,” the Dragon Warrior shouted, doing her best to plow through the snow. “Please, just tell me…” Valka stumbled—her foot connecting with something solid below the snow—and used her staff to catch herself. “About my son. Tell me about Dragonlords. I need to know.”

“I know little of thine’s query,” blue eyes casted back with an unsatisfactory reply as the Dragon Warrior pulled herself upright and hurried to catch up. Neither fae stopped, but their pace did slow, much to the woman’s appreciation. Though, she had no reservation that it was to accommodate her slower pace. No, they had only slowed to search out an opening leading to an exposed glacier tube in a massive ice shelf, their pace picked back up as they headed inside.

“But—” Valka paused, dusting the snow from her body as they headed out of the elements. “—but you made him a Dragonlord.”

“Mine own sister hath neither the power nor the right to raiseth a Dragonlord. We hath barely a standing in either of the Courts, bleedeth and fought for as they were,” the contempt in her words gave the Dragon Warrior pause as she took notice of the stiffness of their otherwise fluid movements. It was in their posture, the slight hitch in their gait, and the faintest traces of blemishes and nearly healed scars on their pale skin that spoke of conflict. 

Before she could ask, the white-haired fae answered. “The Sidhe doth not taketh too kindly to two Dewdrop Faeries rising into their noble ranks. They tooketh exception to our presence. We tooketh exception with their harsh tongues.”

The way her fangs flashed as she smiled let Valka know all she needed to. Whatever fight the sisters were in with the other Sidhe had left the two standing. She wondered if the same could be said for those that opposed them.

“This upheaval is why there’s been a decline in the number of fae in the village recently,” the Dragon Warrior remarked, shoulders slumping. She assumed the decrease in numbers of the creatures was because of her. That the Wee Folk retreated to hinder her in her search for the white-haired fae. An assumption that couldn’t be further from the truth as it turned out.

The twins finally stopped, turning around to face her. “A dynasty hath ended, Pixie Hollow hath fallen, and kingdoms are cometh to a closeth. Thy Balance hast been disturbed, a storm is brewing, war is coming. Thy Dragonlord, young as he is, hast felt the rift, hast he not?”

Valka’s first impulse was to deny it but hesitated at the last second. Hiccup _had_ been acting differently since the night he burned the hut down. He’d become agitated and restless, unable to sit still for long. More than once she caught him going over maps with the Gronckle rider and the Berserker shieldmaiden or talking strategy with the Hofferson and the Jorgenson. She even caught him and Stoick going through the ancestral books of the Haddocks. Then, without warning the Dragon Riders disappeared into the night, only to come back to Berk a few days later with a battered pack of dragons trailing behind them. It would be the first of many raids.

“Thy Dragonlord hast,” the blonde concluded with a nod, not needing any words of confirmation. Her silence was enough.

“The brewing storm draws ever closer, the fate of every Creature of Magic and mortal in the archipelago and beyond rest on the outcome of the cometh war,” the beauty of the white-haired woman’s words painted a devastating picture. There was a war coming, Valka expected as much with Drago’s defeat. But the fae spoke of something on a much grander scale than she imagined. She spoke of the entirety of the Barbaric Archipelago. 

“Thy Dragonlord—as doth we—seeketh to protect our own from the looming threat and yet, we madeth a vow to thee Druid Emissary to protect what he cherished. We wouldst fight at thy Dragonlord’s side yet to doth so wouldst inviteth our Sidhe detractors to striketh thee as a means to striketh at us. We cannot hope to wage a war on two fronts and win without great losses neither of our kin can afford. Hence, we seeketh a solution, we seeketh answers.”

“Ahtohallan holds many truths and many answers for in her waters’ lie the past, in her river full of memory. Dive down deep enough and the truth shall be found but go too far and you’ll be drowned. Brave what you must fear, are you willing to face what the river knows?”

The new voice had the Dragon Warrior whirling around to locate the source and for the first time she truly took in her surroundings. The glacier tube they’d traveled through gave away to a hollow of intersecting fractured serac. A heavy mist filled the cavity, reducing visibility yet Valka could tell the towering ice stacks didn’t look natural. They were too uniform, too structured in their positioning. Almost as if they were manmade which made little sense. Such an undertaking would take a lifetime of work or an army of laborers but there were no signs of any human settlement near or on the glacier for that to be true.

“Welcome to Ahtohallan, Periwinkle previously Wyldfae of the Winter Woods, current Sidhe of the Unseelie Court; Tinkerbell previously Wyldfae of Pixie Hollow, current Sidhe of the Seelie Court; Valka of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, faithful companion to Cloudjumper and former vassal to the sea titan,” a soft-dulcet voice greeted them as the sound of footsteps grew nearer and a tall, slender silhouette took shape.

Battle honed light blue eyes tracked the movement only to widen as a woman a few years older than her son emerged from the mist. The woman, for a lack of a better word, was radiant with pale skin lightly dusted with freckles and rosy cheeks that offset the glacial coloring of her eyes. Long platinum blonde hair fell in waves around her bare shoulders left exposed by the white off-the-shoulder dress she wore which almost appeared to be made of ice crystals with its glittery diamond-shaped patterning on the bodice. If it were not for the greyish blue leggings worn underneath the garment, Valka would be appalled at the rather high slit going up the right side of the dress. Though, it was easily overshadowed by the regal way she moved. Her translucent split cape fluttered behind her like faerie wings with each step, never once slipping on the icy surface despite wearing simple flat open-toed shoes unbefitting of the climate. 

“The White Goddess,” Valka gulped, her left hand falling to the bag at her side, feeling the outline of the book she carried with her. She had yet to read through the pages cover to cover, but she had read enough of the Druid’s teachings to recognize the woman before her for her divine nature.

“I’m flattered for the comparison, but no, I am not her. The Triple Goddess is the matron of those who follow the Old Religion, whereas I do not adhere to her beliefs. Nor any other pantheon for that matter. No, my allegiance lies with magic as I am one of its Guardians,” the woman must have seen the confusion on her face, for she politely hid a chuckle behind her hand. “I apologize, I should introduce myself properly. I am the Snow Queen, the Fifth Spirit and Guardian of Ahtohallan, Elsa of Arendelle. What brings you here, Valka Haddock of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe?”

The revelation did little to quell Valka’s growing nerves. The woman before her may not be a goddess, but she was far from worldly with the ethereal force she exuded. Glancing at the Sidhe, light blue eyes met those of the white-haired fae’s and a nearly hidden tilt of her head reinforced the Dragon Warrior’s resolve. If Hiccup trusted this woman then so would she. She came here looking for answers and she would get them.

“I come searching for answers on Dragonlords,” the Dragon Warrior stood tall, staff planted to her side as she spoke, giving her the strength when she feared she had none.

The Snow Queen nodded, hands folding neatly in front of her dress, and Valka got the feeling the woman was looking down on her when it was her that was taller. “I see. Dragonlords are a dying breed. I have not met one myself, but I know my people, the Northuldra, once welcomed a Dragonlord seeking shelter for refugees fleeing from a tyrant king. He was a good man and gave his life so others could live. The Northuldra respected his sacrifice and did what they could to help those he left in their care, welcoming them into their tribe and eventually into their hearts. However, they knew little of his abilities.” 

“You do not have the answers I seek then?” Valka’s voice trembled; her building hopes crushed by the overwhelming disappointment.

“I did not say that, I may not know much about Dragonlords, but Ahtohallan does,” Elsa said as she lifted her hands and with them, the mist lifted into the top of the hollow. There the vapor compressed together, forming a blanket of snow. Another, much harsher, gesture from the Snow Queen had the newly formed snow rushing back down.

The Dragon Warrior’s survival instincts kicked in and she protectively threw her arms above her head. When the weight of the snow didn’t come, a single light blue eye peeked out before she lowered her arms. Awe crossed her features as she surveyed the life-like shapes and figures—all made of snow—showcasing various people in different positions surrounded her. A hand flew to her chest when the sculpted scene nearest to her began to move and the man behind a sturdy desk slit the throat of the figure on the other side before calmly returning the weapon to the desk drawer.

Stumbling back, she hit a solid object and turned in time to watch a young man speak actual words she could hear rather than his lips moving with no sound. Not that she could understand a single word of the foreign language, but she need not understand the words to see the look of pure delight on his face as a dragon—unlike any species she’d encountered before—hatched from an egg under his watchful eyes. Though, when she reached out to touch the hatchling, the dragon and the scene collapsed into a pile of snow.

Her attention was quickly pulled elsewhere when a familiar voice caught her ear. _“Wha-what does it say?”_

Hastily, Valka weaved her way through the many animated snow scenes until she came upon one that was familiar, though not one she witnessed. Fingers touched parted lips as she saw a group of Vikings surrounding a desk she knew to be housed in Gobber’s blacksmith stall. The various knickknacks at the edges of the surface, pushed aside for a map, only confirmed that it was the very same desk. Though, the Vikings—younger in appearance—situated around the pieces of furniture did more to confirm its authenticity than a few hammers and tongs.

“Hiccup.” Her hand reached out to touch the younger—happier—face of her son but she held herself back at the last moment.

 _“Ambrosius of Balinor Forest.”_ Pulling away, light blue eyes glanced over towards the silvery voice she’d only heard the once. Jackson Overland, or the snow recreation of him, was leaning over her son, finger zipping across the map as the hefty Viking to the side said something but she was no longer listening. Valka was too focused on studying the features of the departed Druid. He didn’t look too different, wearing much of the same clothing as he wore at his death—nothing unusual since the teen had not grown much and the armor he wore was still in good, working condition—with the only noticeable difference being the style of his pants. She would have studied him in greater detail but his words snapped her back into focus. “— _Dragonlords. It was rumored they were the first line of Dragonlords and knew of the land from which all dragons hail._ ”

“He knows of Dragonlords?”

“He does,” Elsa confirmed, coming to stand behind her with the fae on either side.

“But there was nothing written about them in the chronicles. Nothing at all, I looked,” Valka shook her head, hand fumbling for the book in her bag. Her trembling fingers made it near impossible to open the satchel as light blue orbs looked up yet again at the scenery playing about before them. Forgoing the book, she turned her attention onto the Snow Queen “Can you show me how _he_ learned about Dragonlords?”

Elsa slowly shook her head. “I cannot.”

“Why not?” the Dragon Warrior demanded, grip tightening on her staff. 

“Thou shalt hold thy tongue when addressing a Guardian blessed by magic,” Periwinkle made to step forward but the Snow Queen stopped by raising her hand. With it, the rest of the snow figures collapsed. Another gesture of her hand had the powder rearranging, reforming into various new scenes and figures. All of them had one thing in common, all of them contained Jackson Overland in one way or another.

He was everywhere. 

Jackson laughing as he raced down the streets of Berk with the twins at his side and the Commander of the Berk Guard and her siblings giving chase. He was standing on fractured ice, holding a small child up as if he were handing her off to someone not in the scene. There he was in a mock battle with the two shieldmaidens, dodging their various axe swings with the fluidity of water. Just beyond that he sat in a circle with a bunch of children and the Ingerman reading from _The Book of Dragons_ and not too far away he was chasing after three young teens who’d stolen his cloak. Another scene had his arms crossed with his back facing the Jorgenson who was on his knees pleading. But the one that held her attention the most was of him sleeping, curled up in her son’s arms as Hiccup looked down on him lovingly, stroking his hair.

“Ahtohallan has plenty to share but her waters hold only memories.”

“Then show me his memory of the Dragonlords,” Valka pointed her staff at the nearest snow figure of Jackson.

Shaking her head once more, Elsa motioned to all of the snowscapes. “Take a closer look and tell me, what do you see?”

“I see the life of Jackson Overland,” light blue orbs scanned the snow figures once more, pausing on an image of the boy curled up in obvious pain with the Bewilderbeast looking down at him and Gobber’s dragon at his side. Something about it seemed off. She clearly remembered Hiccup pulling Jackson back into her living space rather than Grump carrying the teen through the Sanctuary. Eyes widened as her head darted around, searching the many faces and falling on slightly changed visages. “I…where are his childhood memories? His memories of his time before Berk?”

Lips thinned into a bitter smile as Elsa inclined her head. “Jackson Overland’s past is fluid yet, his memories not yet frozen in history. Ahtohallan eagerly awaits the day she has the privilege to house those memories in her waters.”

“I don’t understand, how is that possible?” Valka was on the verge of shouting but held herself in check. She was in no position to demand anything from either the Snow Queen or the fae. She needed their help and though they were providing it, the Dragon Warrior was not following. The answers provided might have been common knowledge to people like them, but the elegant words flew over her head, further confusing her. “Please, is there no way to learn what he knew?”

Elsa hesitated before speaking as if to weigh her words. “There is a way for you to obtain the knowledge Jackson had.”

“How?” light blue eyes never strayed from the glacial blue orbs that gave nothing away.

“I assume you know of the Dísir?” Valka nodded her head and the Snow Queen continued. “Then you know they are tasked with maintaining the Balance in their territory and can be called upon to pass judgment on those found worthy of magic’s attention? A difficult task when the words of mortals are often biased by their own personal perception of the world. Thus, to learn the truth and pass an impartial verdict, a Dís relies on a limited form of omniscience they ascertain when they join the ranks of the Dísir.

“This limited omniscience, referred to as Intellectus, allows the Dísir to view reality as one piece, place, and moment. They no longer search for knowledge, they just simply know, seeing the whole picture. There are limitations to the Intellectus granted to a Dís. For one, a Dís must know what they are looking for and, oftentimes, it is limited to the specific territory which they preside over.”

“Are you offering me the chance to become the Dís of the Barbaric Archipelago?”

“The information you seek would still be out of your reach. Jackson Overland no longer exists on this plain and thus, the knowledge would be lost to a Dís of the Barbaric Archipelago. A Dís of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, however, would be different. Their Intellectus would allow them to tap into the collective knowledge of every member of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, including their Druid.”

“And you can do this, you can make me a Dís?”

“I cannot, that is out of my reach, but I know of the way which will lead you down the path to becoming a Dís. If you are judged worthy. I warn you now, tread carefully it is not a decision to make lightly. You will no longer be mortal, you will become like me, a spirit to guard over your tribe. Frozen in time, never aging, forced to watch your loved ones grow old and die while you remain the same. As I am the Fifth Spirit that bridges magic and humanity, you shall too become a bridge between magic and your tribe. Is that an existence you can live with?”

Valka considered her words, weighing them heavily, but all possible consequences were insignificant. She had already let her son down once. Abandoning both him and Stoick because she didn’t think Berk could change and was proven wrong. _Hiccup_ had changed the minds of even the most stubborn and thickheaded Vikings of their tribe. He changed _Stoick’s_ mind. She was not about to let her son down a second time.

“For Hiccup, I will.”

“Then so be it,” the Snow Queen swept her hand outward, causing all the snow figures to crumble, and pointed to a triangular opening at the far end of the hollow. “Follow the path and brave what you most fear, when all is lost, all is found.” 

Valka gave a sharp nod and headed for the hollow, taking long strides, only faltering when she reached the threshold. The ethereal trio watched as the Dragon Warrior hesitated for less than a second before throwing her shoulders back and with her head held high, she descended into the dark recess. They listened until they could no longer hear her faint footsteps. Only then, did Periwinkle break the silence.

“Doth thou believe she will pass the trial?”

“I know so, but let us not continue with such pleasantries, I do believe you have come for a reason, have you not?”

“Aye,” Tinkerbell nodded, eyes dimming as she gazed off to the side. “The sewn seeds of discord hast did sprout and the haven for all Wyldfae ravaged, Pixie Hollow hast fallen, and the Sidhe art on the verge of war.”

“A war that will spill over into the Barbaric Archipelago,” the Snow Queen tersely concluded.

“Aye,” Periwinkle confirmed, sharp nails digging into the soft skin of her palms.

Elsa hummed but the raging blizzard above their heads belied her calm façade. “The Barbaric Archipelago has always been rich with magic but due to the Great Purges and the decline of the Old Ways, the Barbaric Archipelago has become a stronghold of magic. There are those who seek its power for their own and those who wish to extinguish it as both my grandfather and Uther Pendragon once attempted. If the Barbaric Archipelago falls, I fear for what will become of the Old Ways. Yes, I see you seek to protect but even I am at a loss as to how. Ahtohallan holds many spells and enchantments, but none on such a scale to protect all of the archipelagoes.”

“There is a way.” All heads turned towards the glacier tube where an imposing, tall man strolled through without pause. His thundercloud hair was a bit wild with flakes of snow clinging to the strands and his cold blue eye sparked with something dangerous in its depths. Where his other eye should have been, a leather patch took its place and yet it could not cover the vertical scar running from above his eyebrow to halfway down his cheek.

“Odin,” Elsa curtsy to the deity far older and far more powerful than her. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the Allfather. I have heard rumors that you were masquerading as a mortal of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe and I feel I must warn you. Valka Haddock has undertaken the trial to become the Dís of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe and will learn of your guise.”

“Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters, Spirit. A Dís’s access to the memories of their tribe is limited to their tribal members and nothing more. None of my mantles fall under her jurisdiction and the simpleton _Bucket_ is essentially a separate being,” the god dismissed the Snow Queen’s concern in favor of the two fae.

“Winter King,” the twins bowed to Odin when his attention turned to them.

“Periwinkle, it is good to see you are well and among the living,” the Winter King acknowledged in lieu of a greeting. “I dare say, the Erlking was not pleased to learn of what became of Pixie Hollow and even now, he makes preparations to lead a Wild Hunt against the perpetrators.”

“The Erlking wouldst side with us against the Sidhe?” Tinkerbell faltered, renewed hope bleeding through.

“Not just him, I too wish to lend you my support. The Elder Sidhe have lost their way, attacking the Wyldfae Haven was a step too far. It is time they are reminded of their place, but first,” Odin paused as he held out his arm and Gungnir materialized in his grasp. Once in hand, he slammed the butt against the floor as a rainbow of lights lit up the chamber, creating a three-dimensional map of the archipelago floating in midair between them before addressing the group as a whole, “The protection of the Barbaric Archipelago.

“The young warlock was never idle; where many before him have sown the seeds of destruction, he has sown the seeds of protection. Though, the purpose of his seeds was to protect the islands against the Dream Pirates rather than to fortify the entirety of the Barbaric Archipelago from outside invasions. Jackson set wards on every island he could that allowed the celestial pirates to leave the warded area but bar them from returning. He was unable to ward all of the islands before his untimely passing but we can pick up where he left off. Between Jackson’s wards and a few additional spells to make them fit our needs, we can create a labyrinth of a veil. The Fog of Helheim’s Gate and the Fogbank to the Great Beyond; both were little veils in comparison to what will cover the Barbaric Archipelago.”

“What price wouldst beest required for thy veil?” Periwinkle spoke softly.

“A veil of the scale needed would require hundreds of sorcerers—or a handful of Creatures of Magic capable of casting enchantments—along various points outside the borders to initiate the veil.”

“Meaning those that cast the veil would never be allowed to return,” Elsa concluded, earning a nod of approval from Odin. “A heavy price to pay.”

The white-haired fae did not hesitate to step forward. “A price I shall payeth.”

Tinkerbell looked to her sister before she to step forth. “I too shall payeth the price.”

“I cannot, my place is here, in Ahtohallan. However, I will offer my assistance in another capacity,” Elsa flicked her wrist and rows upon rows of bookcases appeared filled with tomes. “These books hold the knowledge of the Northuldra Tribe and in them, lies the manner to recreate the Mists of the Enchanted Forest. Instead of altering Jackson’s wards to build a labyrinth of fog, we can create an impenetrable veil of mist.”

“A noble gesture, Spirit, and a far superior idea,” Odin acknowledge. “Very well, I accept your offer. As for setting up the veil, the Erlking and myself will assist the fae.”

Tinkerbell startled, looking towards her sister with wide eyes yet her twin was nodding in agreement. “Art thou certain, milord?” the blonde fae asked, her voice nearly breaking upon questioning the Winter King’s decision. “Thee majority of thou followers reside within the archipelago.”

She need not fear any backlash as Odin merely tilted his head upwards, images reflecting in his eye as he gazed upon something only he could see. “There is much left in this world you still have yet to learn, little Wyldfae. My burdens are my own, many of which lie outside the Barbaric Archipelago. Do not worry yourself with what will become of me, little Wyldfae, my mantle can bare the separation between myself and my followers.”

“And what shall become of thy Bucket guise?” Periwinkle inquired.

The deity grinned. “A terrible fate, to be lost at sea—body never to be recovered—wouldn’t you say?”

“Aye, a terrible fate indeed, but the risk of a lone fisherman.”

* * *

Valka hesitated heading into the unknown. The narrow stairs fading into darkness, a daunting sight if there ever was one, and even more difficult to walk upon. She’d somehow managed to keep her feet firmly on the ground right up until she nearly walked over a ledge. The Dragon Warrior frantically sought out a purchase, her hand grasping the rocky surface of the wall to pull herself up to safety. Light blue orbs gazed down into the vast nothingness she’d nearly entered. A glance around her showed that there were no other paths, just icy walls descending straight down and the stairway behind her. 

The Dragon Warrior stood up, intending to head back when a waft from the void carried with it a voice. She couldn’t make out what was said and when she heard nothing else for a moment, she dismissed it as a trick of the wind. Her chest seized when the trick persisted a moment later and no searching of the icy surfaces provided an answer. 

_Thy answers lie under our feet._

The hand around her staff tightened and she took a step back, squaring her shoulders. Reaching behind her, slender hands fumbled before grasping the mask secured to the plate of lamellar armor on her back. Pulling it from where it hung, the woman secured her hair and placed the mask over her head. 

The woman knew what she had to do and if she was going to do it, Valka was going to do it her way. 

Fully armored, the Dragon Warrior took a step back before sprinting forward. She waited to the last possible second before hurling herself as far into the abyss as possible. Darkness was quick to claim her as the winds whipped upwards with whispered words digging into her memories. Around her, on the crystalline walls, images of her past came to life. They banished the darkness with visions of the family she left behind on Berk, surrounded her with a familiarity as she continued to fall. She glimpsed her life and the lives of many others on Berk, some she recognized—many she did not—and yet she retained none of it. 

The last image she saw was that of a vast mountain of a man—who heavily reminded her of Stoick—with a mane of blond hair drawing the iconic coiled Monstrous Nightmare emblem on a newly built hut. When the blond stepped back, the image faded and Valka was bathed in the darkness once more. It didn’t last long as a red glow from below, a circle of interlocking shapes with runes strewn about, rushed up to meet her. Her legs shook upon impact as she fell through the glowing array and staggered. 

Looking around to reoriented herself, Valka found that the icy covered walls were ones she wasn’t unfamiliar with. The glacier tube was one that was well worn with use unlike that of Ahtohallan but it was clear they hadn’t been used recently. A darkness clung to the ice that she never remembered, sending a chill up her spine.

‘ _Will you adhere to the duties of a Dís? Can you judge someone?_ ’

The Dragon Warrior flinched at the request. Not at the question itself, but at the fact that it had come from within her mind but it wasn’t her own thought.

‘ _Can you judge someone? Condemn them to their fate? Even if they_ are _one of Hairy Hooligan Tribe’s own? To maintain the Balance._ ’

“I can,” Valka answered, not knowing who—if anyone—she was talking too and felt a bubble at the back of her mind probing her further. “I will.”

‘ _Show thy choice, decided thy fate._ ’

“How?”

A scrap of paper fluttered from above and Valka plucked it out of the air, finding the same strange circular array she fell through staring back at her. An array which inverted on itself, the lines changing size in relation to each other, shrinking and growing, bending and buckling, and yet, the array never changed. It was how she perceived it. As if a part of her she’d been unaware of awoke for the first time and yet, it was just out of reach.

_It was…_

The thought frizzled out, escaping Valka. But it was still there. She knew what it was— _it was…!_ —the Dragon Warrior just needed to grasp the thought and she would _know_. She would know— _it was…!—_ and she would use that knowledge to help her son. To be the mother she never got to be, to be there for him, guide him; not just for him, but for the good of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. The thought sent a jolt through her as the newly awakened part of her wormed its way further into her conscious mind, bursting into awareness. 

_It was_ everything she saw on Ahtohallan’s icy walls. _It was_ the knowledge and the memories of her tribe. _It was_ the Intellectus of the Dís of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe.

A voice called out, this one heard with her ears rather than in her mind, and Valka _knew_ her next course of actions would determine her fate. Calmly, the Dragon Warrior looked down at the scrap of paper and clenched it in her hands. She knew what she must do. 

Letting her feet carry her through the familiar route and into the once light-filled chamber that now only held shadows. She noted the darkness was kept at bay by the gleaming red circular array stamped on the ground. Valka got the impression if she were to study the array she would know its purpose or at least understand the meaning behind its runes. However, light blue eyes were too focused on the figure within the circle to see much of anything else.

Valka forced herself to blink but the teen was still there. Bare feet taking on a red hue as they skirted the edge of the circle, walking the perimeter. Pants ragged and worn, bound at the ankles were quickly dismissed in favor of the oddly cut hooded jacket stained around the midsection. The Dragon Warrior had little doubt the true color of the stain would match the blood currently running cold in her veins. The gnarled staff tapping the ground in tandem with the rhythmic drops of water reverberating in the background creased as the dripping water rolled across her armor when she unknowingly moved closer.

“ _Who’s there?_ ” the foreign language had her licking her suddenly dry lips as light blue orbs followed the figure in hopes of catching a glimpse of his face as he twisted and turned within the circle. He just wouldn’t stay still and Valka _couldn’t_ be sure. She needed to get closer. She needed to know.

“ _Where am I?_ ” he spoke again and the Dragon Warrior frowned as doubt rearing its head. The voice didn’t sound right, gravelly and hoarse, almost as if his vocal cords had been damaged due to strangulation or drowning. 

Creeping closer, she approached the young man. No, not a man yet, still young, still a boy who stumbled over his own feet and fell backwards when he abruptly spun around, his nose all but touching her mask. The glimpse of shimmering violet eyes had her biting the inside of her cheek. The shade was similar to that of the stained hooded jacket he wore which could be any verity of colors in natural lighting. Even now with wide violet eyes staring straight at her, she couldn’t be sure if their true color was amber or not. Crouching down, she tilted her head. If she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn his hair was white underneath the red hue but that most certainly could not be right. 

“ _Where am I_?” this time when he spoke, Valka found that she understood the foreign tongue— _English_ —and she had to wonder who in the Hairy Hooligan Tribe knew the language for her to understand it— _Jackson, Typhan, Fishlegs, Hiccup, Heather, Bucke—_ Valka forcefully dispelled the overwhelming influx of information from her mind.

“You are here. How did you get here?” Valka spoke, cringing a second later upon realizing she’d spoken in Norse. It seemed that when she dismissed the information threatening to overwhelm her mind, she also dispelled her understanding of the foreign tongue as well. No matter how much she tried to recall the language, the Dragon Warrior couldn’t. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Not anymore, not without hearing the strange but familiar words a select few members of the tribe knew. 

“I woke up here,” the gravelly voice spoken in Norse had her rocking back into a crouch, a hand idly rubbing the chin of her mask. It would seem, she need not endeavor to understand him as he could speak her tongue and rather well at that. Blue orbs narrowed as she gazed into those unfamiliar eyes, willing the knowledge to come to her as her brief understanding of his language had.

The Intellectus tickled at the back of her mind. Waiting to impart the knowledge held at bay but unable to extend outside its domain, outside the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. It knew something, but she didn’t know what she was looking for, for it to provide her with the answer. There was something she was missing. 

Abruptly, Valka stood and began to pace. 

The boy’s coloring was off, then again, that could be contributed to the red hue and it was obvious he was wounded, so the difference in his tone was understandable. However, there was still doubt because the boy before her was _there,_ walking and talking when _he shouldn’t be alive._

Glancing back at him, her mutterings drifted off in favor of an audible gasp. She reacted without thinking, stepping into the array and pulling her mask off to be sure. There was no denying the gnarled piece of wood clutched tightly in his fisted hand. Valka had never seen another staff with a crook like that before and she knew for a fact the one she had seen was burned with the body of her son’s beloved. Any lingering doubt she had quickly vanished and it was then she noticed the startled look in his wild violet tinged eyes. That of a cornered animal readying to attack. Quickly taking a step back and into the light for him to see her, to recognize her. Valka waited but he didn’t react. 

_He wouldn’t_.

The knowledge provided by the Intellectus had her tilting her head to the side as Cloudjumper so often did when he didn’t understand her human gestures. “Do you know who I am?”

“Should I?” His hand tightened around his staff and for a moment, she thought him to be about to attack but instead he used it to pull himself up to his feet. It was then she saw the difference. The staff was the same as she remembered it, but _he_ was _shorter_. He was _younger_.

Valka finally understood. 

Jackson Overland’s memories were not in Ahtohallan because they were not yet _frozen_. His time was still fluid because it hadn’t happened yet, hadn’t become part of the _past_. She hadn’t fallen into a void. The Dragon Warrior was pulled into the future as a trial. To see if she would maintain the Balance and send the boy to the past knowing his fate.

_‘Will you adhere to the duties of a Dís?’_

It was the ultimate test. 

_‘Can you judge someone?’_

She would have to judge Jackson Overland—and he was more than worthy, she could see it now, he already had magic’s blessing—as a part of her own trial.

_‘Condemn them to their fate?’_

She would have to sentence Jackson Overland to his death. 

_‘Even if they are one of Hairy Hooligan Tribe’s own’_

To help her son, she would be the one making him suffer in the worst way possible. 

_‘To maintain the Balance.’_

Letting out a self-deprecating chuckle, Valka gave the boy what she hoped didn’t come across as an anguish filled smile and sealed his fate.

“I am the Dís of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe.”

“Pleasure, I’m Ja—” the boy grinned nervously, casually flipping his staff from his right hand, over his shoulders and into his left palm allowing him to hold out his now free hand. Valka couldn’t prevent herself from surging forth, silencing him as she cupped his outstretched hand with both of hers. As if the comforting touch alone would wash away her guilt.

“Jackson Overland, I know,” her eyes stung with unshed tears, hands tightening ever so slightly to keep herself grounded as the budding Intellectus bloomed, allowing the words from a distant memory from the Druid of Berk fall from her lips. “I have been waiting for you. Berk has been waiting for you. The White Goddess has seen it once and she shall see it again.”

The Dragon Warrior forced herself to release Jackson’s hand, tucking the scrap of paper into the teen’s palm at the insistence of the Druid’s fading memory and taking a step back. As violet tinged eyes studied the parchment, Valka too studied him. A tear rolled down her face as the array at his feet activated.

“I am truly sorry for your fate, but he needs you,” Valka held herself up long enough to witness Jackson consumed by the array before falling to her knees. Tears flowing down her face, knowing the boy was now in the past where her son would find him and lose him to a fate she condemned them both to. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Valka cried as Jackson’s knowledge of the Dragonlords filled her memories. Of stories about the Warlock Merlin, The Last Dragonlord as far as the Druid knew. A man born into the legacy, inheriting his knowledge of the ancient language of the dragons and the ability to command the magical creatures of fire. But that wasn’t all he knew; Jackson uncovered the secret of founding a new line of Dragonlords. One that involved stealing the life of an unborn hatchling and taking their magic for themselves. The more powerful the species of dragon, the more powerful the Dragonlord’s line became and Valka knew Hiccup’s developing power was vast. 

She also knew her son would never steal the life of a dragon.

No, the legacy was bestowed upon him. How? The Dís didn’t know. Jackson died before Hiccup was named a Dragonlord and the rest of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe knew less than her. For all she had learned, Valka was still no closer to helping her son and the Druid’s limited knowledge of the Dragonlords had to be taken with a grain of salt as they were stories told to him by his mother. 

Blue eyes shot wide open. “By the Gods, what have I done? What of his family?”

She _needed_ to tell them what happened to him. 

_‘This is not your time; you must go back.’_

“No, I have to tell them, I have to give his family closure! It’s my fault, they shouldn’t be kept wondering what happened to him,” the Dragon Warrior denied, shaking her had before getting to her feet. She had made the conscious decision not to return to her family and it weighed on her every day but she could not be the reason another mother would be forced to wonder what had become of her son. Valka could not let the boy’s mother hope for her son’s safe return when he would never come home again. 

_‘No.’_

Valka refused to listen and tried to walk out but it was like hitting an invisible wall. She could not leave the circular array. There was another protest but she wouldn’t be denied. The Dragon Warrior fought the magic, using her staff to press on through the crackling barrier. She shouldn’t have broken through but something outside the array crashed into the invisible wall and between the two forces, it shattered. The outside force tried to rush by Valka, heading in the opposing direction but something else pushed against it, fighting to keep it out.

The two opposing forces clashed and the shockwave threw her out into the void. Valka felt fear grip her as a variety of different entities brushed up against her as they passed and in the darkness, she couldn’t see anything. She didn’t know if they were coming or going. All she knew was she was falling. Falling through the void again, falling through time, and she _needed_ to find Jackson’s family. 

The next thing she knew was she was standing in the woods, a soft billowing breeze cooling her otherwise heated skin. Between the colorful leafy foliage of the trees, light blue eyes made out what looked to be like one of those stone castles the people to the west preferred over wooden huts. This one was nowhere near as grand as those behemoths and was smaller. Much smaller, about the size of the largest of huts on Berk.

Valka didn’t recognize it and as the back door opened, she ducked behind the nearest tree. Peering out, light blue orbs saw a man a couple years older than her son with hair a shade or two dark decent the steps. She could hear his grumbling even from such a distance and the lost language— _English_ —came rushing back to her, confirming she was in the right place. However, a glance at the man’s clothing had her looking down at her own armor. If this really was Jackson’s family, she didn’t want to frighten them and despite how unsure she felt without the protective armor, she readily shed the extra layers leaving her in only her yellow tunic and brown pants. She had even taken off her furs, using them to cover her armor and hide it from view.

With her satchel safely on her shoulder, Valka headed for the house, heart pounding in her chest as she knocked on the large ornate door. She didn’t have to wait long for it to swing open and reveal not the young auburn-haired man she’d been expecting but an elderly woman with a stern but pleasant face. Her grey hair piled high on her head and out world-weary blue eyes. There was something about the woman that reminded Valka a little too much of Gothi but she couldn’t put her figure on why that was.

“May I help you?” the elderly woman asked not altogether unpleasantly.

Taking a breath, Valka spoke, willing herself to speak the unfamiliar language she’d never heard of until that day. “Yes, you wouldn’t happen to have a grandson, would you?”

What little pleasantry the elder had to offer vanished from her face. “Just the one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the Dragon Warrior started, searching for the best way to explain why she would never see her grandson again but wasn’t given the chance to say much else.

“What did he do now?” the woman scowled, turning her head to shout into the house. “ **Duke!** Get out here boy!”

There was a thud, followed by muttered curses and the sounds of scrambling before the auburn-haired man from earlier came into view. “You called?”

Valka felt her heart drop. Of course, she wouldn’t be dropped outside of the Druid’s house. Magic hadn’t wanted her to spend any more time in the future than she already had and she hadn’t listened. Instead, she forced her way further into the future and just assumed she’d find Jackson’s family right off the bat. Now that she was thinking about it, that was rather idealistic of her. 

“I’m sorry, it seems there has been a mistake,” the Dís apologized, “I was looking for the family of Jackson Overland and I thought this was his home. I was mistaken.”

The woman started to turn back, but the elder’s next words prevented her from going anywhere. “I’m Helga Overland, the last of the Overlands as far as I know as my own flesh and blood didn’t see fit to follow family tradition and keep the family name.”

“I see, well, I am in the wrong place, Jackson spoke highly of his family’s traditions and their Druid roots.” Once more, Valka turned to leave, but faster than she thought possible, Helga whipped out her gnarled cane, blocking her way.

“I think you and I should have a little talk,” turning to glare at the man shamelessly listening in, the elder snapped at him. “Well, don’t just stand there, Duke! Go put the kettle on, we have a guest.” Nodding quickly, Duke scampered out of the room faster than Helga finish getting the words out of her mouth. 

“Well, don’t just stand there, come in,” Valka was momentarily left speechless, just standing in the threshold, not knowing what to do. But as Helga hobbled across the room, over to a rather plush chair where she sank into the cushions with an audible sigh of relief, the Dís quickly closed the door and took a seat in the chair offered. “Now, why don’t you explain yourself, because to my knowledge there is no other Overlands and I do not openly advertise our Druid roots for reasons you must understand, what with the witch hunts still being a touchy subject even all these years later.” No, Valka did not understand, but the majority of Berk knew of the whispered rumors of the Great Purges that forced Jackson to their shores and she assumed that was what the elder was referring to. “Are you sure he was an Overland?” 

“Positive,” the Dragon Warrior nodded her head.

Helga hummed nonchalantly, but her eyes were full of interest. “Tell me about this boy, this Jackson Overland.”

So Valka did, she told the elderly Overland what little she knew about the boy. Never once did she rely on Intellectus as she retold the many stories she’d overheard about the Druid. Helga seemed interested and the Dragon Warrior lost herself in the comforting presence as she spoke of the brave young boy who’d stolen her son’s heart. Their conversation petered out at an abrupt knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Duke’s voice came a bit too quick and too loud for him to be anywhere else than in the next room over, eavesdropping.

The look she shared with the elderly Overland let her know she too knew what he’d been up to. “That boy is a busybody if there ever was one. If I hadn’t married his grandfather, I’d have kicked him to the curb long before now.”

“He is not related to you by blood then?”

“Heavens forbid no! I only put up with his nonsense out of respect for my dearly departed Henry,” Helga glanced back to where the man was all but barricading the entrance. “Duke! Who’s that at the door? Not another salesman, is it?”

“It’s just me, Emma, Grandma Helga. I brought the kids to come and visit,” a sweet, gentle voice called out, accompanied by the giggles of said children.

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence. That there would be my grandchild by blood. Maybe she will know something about this mysterious Jackson Overland of your,” Helga shot Valka an appraising look. Eyes still fixed on hers, the elderly spoke loud enough for those at the door to hear. “Well, don’t just stand there with the door hanging open. Duke, show them in, you’re letting in all the cold.”

“Coming,” a lovely woman in her prime brushed passed Duke as she ushered her two children in. Valka didn’t pay the children any mind, too busy studying the brunette woman. For some reason, she looked oddly familiar, but not even the Intellectus could tell her why. There was nothing remarkable about her hazel eyes and while her clothes were a different cut than the Dragon Warrior was used to, she figured they were in the style of the current timeframe.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company. I would have called beforehand, but you don’t own a phone,” the mother apologized, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. He barely took notice as hazel eyes darted around the room, sheer wonder crossing his face as the little blonde girl next to him inched forward.

“Don’t want one either,” Helga huffed, and Valka clearly heard the Overland’s contempt for the phone in her tone. Not that she knew what a phone was and when the Intellectus didn’t provide an answer, she was left wondering. “Duke, do start another pot of tea. I’m afraid this one’s almost empty.”

“I’d be happy to Nana,” Duke smiled, shooting an ill hidden look towards Emma.

“Don’t be smart with me boy, you’ve never called me your Nana before and I don’t expect you to start now,” Helga bit out in annoyance. Wisely, Duke ducked his head and made a hasty retreat. This time, Valka didn’t think he would be listening in, not if he wanted to stay on the scowling Overland matriarch’s good side.

Taking a deep breath, Helga offered her an apologetic smile. “Forgive me for that little outburst.”

“It’s alright, I think we’ve all known a few people like him in our lifetimes,” Valka dismissed, a smirk twitching to life at the corners of her lips. 

The Overland matriarch tipped her head and waved her granddaughter forward. “Let me introduce you to…I’m sorry dearie, but your name alludes me at the moment.”

“That’s alright,” Valka took a sip of her tea and didn’t bother to correct the woman over their lack of a proper introduction. Setting the china cup to her side, the Dragon Warrior smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs.?”

“Ms. Bennett,” the mother politely corrected right as a clattering of metal and hiss of pain originating from the kitchen had all heads turning towards the door.

“Boy! What have you done now?” Helga shouted, reaching for her cane and hobbling into the kitchen with barely contained mutters going mostly unheard.

Once the elderly woman was out of hearing range and the children busy examining the books and knickknacks on the bookshelves, Ms. Bennett’s smile grew icy yet her voice remained friendly. “And if I may be so bold, may I ask what someone from across the pond—as you would say—is doing in Burgess? We’re a small town and don’t get a lot of tourists and being such a small town, we tend to know everyone.”

“Ms. Bennett,” Valka kept on smiling at the thinly veiled accusation that held all the intimidation as a barb from a child of the Barbaric Archipelago held. “I am not here for some untowardly reason, unlike your grandmother’s live in guest. You see, recently, a young man died saving my husband’s life and I felt obligated to inform his family of what happened to him in person. However, we knew little about where the child came from and all we had to go off of was his name. After some searching,” which wasn’t that far from the truth, she had searched, all of a second but Emma didn’t need to know that, “we came across your grandmother’s name and thought there might be some relations. I came to visit in hopes of putting the young man’s family at ease, letting them know what became of him.”

“Oh,” the mother deflated, sadness taking over her eyes as she glanced at her own children. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong family. Other than my grandmother, there is only me and my sister and all of our children are accounted for.”

“I see,” Valka nodded, a small frown flittering across her face for the barest of moments. It would seem, she had reached a dead end and her time here was for nothing. It was best if she did not linger any further and with that thought in mind, she stood, preparing to leave. “Then I fear, I’ve come to the wrong place. I’d like to apologize for my intrusion.”

Emma gave her an earnest, if sympathetic, smile. “No, it is I who must apologize. I hope you find who you’re looking for.”

“Thank you. Now if you excuse me, I feel like I should be off, I wouldn’t want to intrude any further on a family gathering,” the Dragon Warrior smiled as she picked up her satchel resting against the chair and held out her hand in the same fashion Jackson had only a few short hours ago. “Good bye Ms. Bennett and do tell Ms. Overland thank you for the tea and delightful conversation for me. I hope you have a good day.”

“You as well,” Ms. Bennett replied shaking the offered hand as her children scampered over to her side. She gave them some privacy as the children spoke in a hushed tone. Another loud noise from behind the close door followed by Helga’s berating had Emma pulling away from the children and offering a strained smile. “I’m sorry miss, but—”

“It’s alright, I can show myself out,” Valka assured the grateful mother who quickly departed. The Dragon Warrior intended to do the same and, in her hurry to leave, she almost missed the little blonde’s whispered question.

“Does that mean we’re related to Jack?”

Her ears must have been failing her because she could have sworn the blonde tyke said Jackson. “Excuse me, but can you repeat what you just said?”

“Uh, I… I’m,” the little girl stuttered, face reddening before she took a step back to hide behind her big brother.

The brunet further shielded his sister with his body, hazel eyes staring defiantly up into her own without wavering. “She was just asking if we were related to a friend of ours. Why does it matter?”

“No, no,” the Dragon Warrior’s face softened, the little brunet’s protectiveness reminding her so much of her son. “I wasn’t trying to accuse your sister of anything, I was just wondering if your friend may be the one I’m searching for.”

“Doubt it,” the boy huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He couldn’t be who you’re looking for.”

“Are you sure, when was the last time you saw him?”

“A week ago,” the little girl answered, following her brother’s example as she crossed her arms over her chest. It was a cute gesture, but not very effective since she didn’t dare move out of the boy’s shadow. One that would have had Valka chuckling any other time if not for her answer.

“A week ago?” the Dís parroted, a hint of dismay to her voice and sadness in her eyes. It was very likely she arrived after Jackson’s disappearance. She had fought the array after all and wasn’t supposed to be in this timeframe. She couldn’t expect to arrive on the same day he’d died and it was probably better this way.

“Yeah, so Jack can’t—”

“Jack?” the woman cut the little boy off. Wasn’t that what Hiccup sometimes referred to him as? Hope and fear clashed within her. “Jackson Overland?”

“How do you know his name?” the blonde demanded; cheeks puffed out as she stepped around her brother. “Only we know his full name!”

“Sophie, Jamie,” Emma stepped into the room, having caught the tail end of the conversation, “do you know who this lady is looking for?”

“No, it can’t be the same Jack we know,” her son replied as the girl vigorously nodded her head in agreement.

“Are you sure, Jamie?” the mother worried at her lip, sharing an apprehensive look with Valka.

“Jack isn’t gone,” Jamie rolled his eyes, clearly done even considering they were speaking of the same person.

“Is your Jack about this tall, carries around a staff with a crook?” the Dragon Warrior indicated an approximate height with her hand making sure she used the size as she’d seen him last rather than the man he would become.

Both children went still, color draining from their faces.

“No! Jack can’t be dead, he just can’t! You’re lying, Mommy make the mean lady stop lying,” Sophie screeched, stamping her feet.

“Honey, I don’t think she is,” Emma slowly approached her daughter, kneeling at her side and accidentally bumping into the brunette’s satchel, spilling the contents in the process. The mother tried to grab the fallen items but Jamie, unusually quiet, automatically kneeled down and began helping retrieve the fallen items, leaving her to deal with his sister.

“No!” Sophie screamed, backing away from Emma when she tried to comfort her with a hug. The little girl stood there, trembling as tears flowed down her face before unexpectedly taking off out the front door.

“I’ll go after her,” Jamie volunteered, his voice devoid of emotions as he too took off out of the house.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a problem.” Valka apologized after a length of silence. The guilt she felt increasing and she couldn’t help but feel like this was the reason magic had not wanted her to come, she made a mess of things.

Emma shook her head. “No, it’s okay, you were doing the right thing, just trying to find closure. I understand, but I’m sorry I can’t help you. I didn’t even know my children knew this Jackson Overland. Well…okay, maybe they have been talking a lot about a Jack Frost, but I thought it was just their imaginary friend seeing how I never met him.”

“Yes, from what I’ve been told, Jackson liked coming up with the most compelling of stories to tell to the children, most notably Jökul Frosti,” the Intellectus prodded at her, providing her with the English name of the Norse deity. “The equivalent of your Jack Frost, I believe. A number of tales were written down, in remembrance. I’d show you, but your son has taken off with the book,” Valka spoke softly, wishing she could do something to fix the mess she caused other than helping the mother to her feet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that, I’ll get it back for you. Just wait right here.”

“There’s no need, it belonged to Jackson, I think he’d want them to have it,” Valka shook her head. She didn’t care much about the contents of the satchel and Hiccup wouldn’t miss the book as it was one of several copies. The only thing that matter was the compass and that was currently tucked away with her armor. Besides, maybe the book would provide the family with the comfort that she could not.

“You sure? What about his family?”

The Dís opened her mouth to reply but the Intellectus at the back of her mind provided her with the reason why magic hadn’t wanted her to come to the future. She nearly choked on the countless memories of various tribe members learning of Jackson’s immediate family. They knew all along and if she’d bother to use the Intellectus, she would have known what the rest of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe already knew. Valka didn’t remember what she said to Emma to explain away why she suddenly knew of the Overlands’ deaths before slipping away, back into the wooded area where she collected her things.

As she reequipped her armor, Valka felt ill at ease. At first, she thought it was due to her guilt, but as she donned her cape, she felt like there was something at the edge of her senses. It wasn’t something she could explain, the sensation too new to her. What the Dragon Warrior did know was that something was out there, watching her. No sooner had she picked up her staff than a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Swiftly, she whirled around to find out who’d snuck up on her. “Emma.”

“Elsa,” the Snow Queen corrected as she took a step back, allowing light blue eyes to take in the icy chamber—currently filled with bookcases—of Ahtohallan bathed in a reddish hue. A glance down revealed the source of the discoloration was a smaller version of the array at her feet. One that sparked angrily at her before fading away as if it was never there to begin with. “Welcome back, Valka Haddock, Dís of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. I see you passed your trial and may I be the first to offer my congratulations?”

“I—” Valka started, trailing off as she stared at Elsa. “You knew. You knew Jackson wasn’t of this time.”

“I did, as the Spirit of Ahtohallan, I am privileged to all the memories the waters’ hold and his only contained a handful of years when there should have been nearly two decades worth. It was not hard to figure out once I eliminated all the impossible, what remained was the truth. Jackson’s time had not yet come and yet, he was still here, creating memories.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Time is a delicate thing, not something that should be trifled with on a whim. One wrong step and the future that is Jackson’s past would be rewritten; it was why he never said anything. He didn’t want to change the past.”

“But he did, just by being here, he changed everything.”

“No, Jackson was always destined to meet Hiccup, to guide him in the ways of magic. If he hadn’t traveled to the past, then his timeline would have changed and the future would be rewritten.”

“I believe I understand,” Valka nodded as the Intellectus showed her a glimpse of the Druid’s fears if his time were to be rewritten because of something he did. “There is just one final matter we must clear up: the Overlands.”

The Snow Queen smiled. “I see, I can’t deny the importance of family. I would not be who I am without my family. A selfless act of heroism from a Northuldra girl saving the life of the Arendellian Prince on the opposing side of a battlefield had magic blessing their union with two children, one with magic and one without. Both with great destinies. They were meant to be two sides of the same coin. I was always meant to become Ahtohallan’s Fifth Spirit to bridge magic and humanity together. Yet a bridge has two sides and I am but one side. My sister was the other, and when she passed, those duties fell to her children and her children’s children and so forth.

“It was not the first time, nor do I suspect the last time, magic blessed my lineage. Every few centuries, one of my kin will demonstrate the same impulsive need to protect and an unfortunate tendency to stare death in the face if it means doing what is right. Magic sees us for who we are and gives us the power needed to accomplish what we know in our very bones, for we possess the same unique trait, we hold the Spirit of a Guardian. We are always the bridge between magic and humanity and while a few of us cross that bridge to become the Guardians we were meant to be, we do so knowing our siblings and their families are on the other side, doing the same. Jackson was just the latest in a long line selected for such a task, like myself. He brings great honor to his family; to our clan.”

“I was correct then, you share the same blood as Jackson?”

“Yes, we do. I see much of my mother in him as well as my sister, it brings me great joy to know her family lives even after Arendelle fell,” Elsa smiled sadly. “I believe it is time for you to depart now, Valka, go, be with your family.”

“Thank you, Elsa, I will make sure your family’s sacrifice won’t be in vain.” With that, the Dragon Warrior made the trek back out the glacier tube and tugged through the snow until she was at the shoreline. Twirling her staff around, she summoned Cloudjumper who was all too willing to make the long journey back to Berk. 

Never once did Valka notice that the ill-feeling she felt in the future clung to her like a second skin. It stayed with her throughout most of the trip back to Berk as a constant irritant to be ignored. By the time Cloudjumper landed on a half-sunken longboat in the Ship Graveyard for a rest, she’d successfully blocked out the ill-feeling all together. Maybe, if she hadn’t done so, the Dragon Warrior would have taken notice of her darker than normal shadow. As it was, she did not and thus missed part of her shadow splintering to slink off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and remember I do accept Ko-Fi, but if you're short on cash (like the majority of the world currently), reviews are just as nice.
> 
> SilverlySIlence is crashing now. Night all!


	4. The Vantage of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! Here is the Throwback chapter I promised for the 6 Year Anniversary of writing this series. I would appreciate if you helped me celebrate, so please check out my 6 Year Anniversary post on Tumblr (There is now a Dagur's Redemption Fic up courtesy of FabLlma02's Ask which is canon in HoaDS) and don't forget to review. 
> 
> Also, a Discord has been set up for HoaDS and it's a pretty chaotic fun place for theories, general chats, and all around good time. Please check it out at https://discord.gg/5KhUp72 (I've been told some of the embedded links I have don't work, so just copy and paste).
> 
> gingerninja88: Please don't cry, I can't promise anything but I can promise an exciting tale to come if you stick with me and keep on reading.
> 
> Trang Phung: You might want to check out the Discord server, you have a lot of good theories which would do well on the HoaDS and you're very close with the Balance being off due to the Dark Celestials (which, I commend you for the name, its a rather accurate description of the Dream Pirates) but there are a few other factors due to the Great Purge too. Also, there is HoaDS Reference Material on my Tumblr if you want to check that out as well for my take on the Fae and i have no problem with your formal wording, I was a bit envious. Good luck with your thesis.
> 
> GeekyHero: I hope you're ready now to read the newest installment. Also, if you need someone to cry with, there is a dedicated forum on the Discord Server for just that. (There is also one dedicated to yelling at me XP)
> 
> soundlessnote: I am touched that you think this series is animation-worthy. Thank you. Just, thank you.
> 
> Sleepless Squad: As always, thank you for your reviews. However, just answering some of the things you spirits write would be a whole chapter in and of itself. So, instead, I present to you: The Throwback Chapter.

“North!” a woman with the distinct features of a hummingbird that altered her otherwise human visage into something supernatural shouted. Fair skin glistened with sweat as iridescent feathers that took the place of hair drooped down instead of swooping upwards as was customary. Pink eyes didn’t even blink as twin scimitars pierced through another of the shadowy black shapes surrounding her, while her fluttering wings sliced a second creature coming up from behind, producing twin clouds of soot as the beings’ existence came to an end. 

Not once did the fairy falter in her movements as she decapitated another enemy, for she was far more a warrior queen than the shy winged maiden who collected teeth that parents portrayed her as in the tales they told to their children. Toothiana wasn’t sure if she truly minded the misconception or not. She did, however, mind the monster that insisted on dive-bombing her which quickly fell to pieces by her blades. 

Below her, fighting a horde of the same beasts, a tall, buff—if not a little rotund—man took heed of the warning and brought up a pair of self-forged sabers in a rough defensive maneuver. Bright blue eyes under thick black brows glared daggers at the creature. Not because it almost took his head off, but because it almost cut his long white beard short and Santa Claus was known for his long beard. He took great pride in that. Nicholas St. North would murder for his beard.

He needn’t have too. Golden sands encircled the attacker, yanking the creature far from him and into another beast attacking a rather large white bear wearing metal armguards.

“Ah, near blow. Help much appreciated Tooth,” North huffed, briefly making eye contact with the Guardian of Memories before they both were drawn back into their respective battles. 

The Guardian of Wonder didn’t even turn as he spun the sword in his hand to thrust the saber backwards, gutting one of the creatures while using his other blade as a javelin to impale four more of the shadowy monsters. It was then deftly plucked out of the air by the tempting beauty that was the Spirit of the Forest. She used the blade to divide her current opponent down the middle and with far more grace, returned the sword to its owner in the same fashion as it had come into her possession. The saber went through twice as many beasts on the return trip than on North’s initial throw.

The alluring smile she bestowed upon the Cossack only held a tiny bit of smugness to it and in turn, North hacked apart a few dozen creatures on her behalf. “How you hanging up, Bunny?”

The only reason the six-foot-plus anthropomorphic rabbit with blue flora like markings on his gray fur didn’t roll his green eyes at the blatant butchery of the English language was due to him being too busy dodging one monster while taking out another with his hind leg. “Better than you, ya show pony.” 

Aster Bunnymund did groan when a blur composed of blues, whites, and browns circled him at great speeds, freezing the throng of shadows surrounding him solid. The blur stilled for a moment, revealing itself to be a playful young boy with pure white hair and glacier blue eyes wearing nothing more than a blue hoodie and tattered brown pants. The mischievous grin on his face grew as he casually tapped the nearest beast with the gnarled wooden crook he held, freezing it solid. 

“I thought I was the show pony,” Jack Frost mused while the horde chasing him crashed through their ice-encased brethren, shattering them to frosty shards. It was at that point that the Easter Bunny’s boomerangs returned to their owner, taking out the few remaining creatures surrounding the duo just moments away from killing the Guardian of Fun.

“Ya a bloody show pony!” the Guardian of Hope huffed, easily catching his weapons before giving them a showy twirl and flinging them at the enemy a short distance out. Paws lashed out, grabbing the head of one of the wispy warriors closest to him and head-butted the solid shadow. “North’s the original show pony.”

“Proud of title!” North gleefully bellowed from somewhere within the fray.

“You would be,” pink eyes rolled as another of their enemies fell at the Guardian of Memories’ hands. “Is this really the best time for this?”

“Best time? Not on ye life,” the former bandit quipped, swords clashing in a scissor-like fashion, taking care of three nightmares in the process.

“But we’re doing it anyway,” the white-haired teen finished for the man as he passed by a short, golden man standing on a cloud of glittering sand. The Guardian of Dream’s whips took care of the group after him and he returned the favor by freezing the cluster surrounding Sanderson Mansnoozie. Gravity did the rest, crushing more nightmares under solid slabs of ice. 

“It’s fun,” Bunny finished as Sandy nodded in agreement, adding his own input into the conversation that only the Easter Bunny was close enough to decipher the rapid-fire symbols appearing over the little man’s head. “Right you are Sandy.”

“I must agree with Toothiana,” the Spirit of the Forest scolded the lot, more bothered by them than the shadowy humanoids surrounding her. Then again, her hand was buried elbow-deep in one of the approaching creatures, so she might have been equally annoyed by them as well. “This is not the time for such banter.”

“You’re just being a stick in the mud,” the Guardian of Fun’s laughter was on the strained side. Whizzing beneath the beautiful woman’s outstretched arm, Jack collided with the monster just about to skewer the graceful maiden warrior. 

He was either going too fast or was too fatigued to the point of miscalculating the distance. Either way, it ended with the eternal teenager plowing into the ground. His body became that akin to a ragdoll, tumbling across the battle-scarred terrain before coming to an abrupt stop when he crashed into a large boulder.

“Jack!” different voices overlapped as they all watched in horror as their fallen ally and friend failed to move.

Then, if barely heard above the sounds of battle, a weak voice reassured them of their concerns. “I’m fine.” 

The Bear—angered and fed up with the current situation—let out a deafening roar. It was enough to draw the attention of the approaching nightmares away from the easy target, giving the Spirit of the Forest enough time to retrieve the white-haired spirit from behind her partner.

“Would it be appropriate to say I owe you one?” Jack’s voice was almost normal, if not for the slightest of slurs.

“Only if you want to admit you are an idiot,” the beautiful woman snapped, quelling her racing heart by soaking up the well of the ichor from Jack’s temple with her sleeve. “What were you thinking?”

The eternal teen didn’t miss a beat and threw a whimsical smile in her general direction. “I wasn’t.” 

Jack evaded her tender probes and used the distance he put between them to press a couple of fingers over the bleeding wound. The Spirit of the Forest was impressed, if a little rattled, at how easy and practiced it was for him to seal the wound with a thin layer of ice. The way he grabbed his staff and made to rejoin the fray worried the woman even more. She didn’t realize her hand snapped out before it was grabbing hold of his slender wrist to keep the young boy from flinging himself back into the fray.

“You’re in no condition to fight,” the Spirit of the Forest didn’t miss how the young spirit’s other arm cradled his ribs, but she didn’t get the chance to comment when Jack yanked free of her hold.

“They need all the help they can get,” Jack pointed out defensively.

Thankfully, the Bear came to his fellow protector’s aide. “But they need you alive more, young Guardian. They have been fighting together far longer than you’ve been alive and can hold their own without you. It is best if you stay with us, let yourself recover. You can still provide us assistance keeping the Nightmare Men from breaching the barrier.”

Neither of Santoff Claussen’s protectors missed the reluctance of Jack’s agreement but quickly dismissed the thought as another wave of Nightmare Men were upon them and for that reason, the Bear didn’t stray far from the Guardian of Fun’ side. He expected the eternal teenager to disregard their instructions and fling himself back into the fray. He was surprised when the boy did stay close, allowing the Big Four to continue working together uninterrupted now that Jack was no longer in their way.

Together, the Spirit of the Forest and the Bear cut down any survivors that managed to pass the Big Four while Jack Frost picked off the few that managed to bypass them. The Nightmare Men’s numbers were fewer than when Jack was on the field and ever so slowly, the throng was diminishing. Finally, there was an end in sight.

The Spirit of the Forest barely finished disemboweling a waif of a shadow when something that was definitely not a Nightmare Man tore past her. She only got the briefest of glimpses of Jack shoving the Guardian of Memories to the side—the Sandman’s golden sands ensnaring her waist and pulling her the rest of the way out of the area—before spears of shadows tore into the white-haired teenager. 

For a moment, the beautiful woman thought her eyes were deceiving her, that Jack was too far away and she’d imagined the young Guardian coming to harm. But even before he toppled backwards, gravity taking hold, Toothiana’s body language conveyed the truth of the situation. The Tooth Fairy only hesitated a second before struggling free of Sandy’s whips and hurtling after the freefalling boy.

It was no use.

Not because she wasn’t catching up. No, the problem was more subtle despite all eyes fixed on the source. She’d brushed it off as a trick of the light at first. Something which became harder to convince herself of as it became obvious Jack Frost was fading away and not in the dying sense either. His body was developing a translucent appearance even as Toothiana fought to catch him. There was no overlooking her hand going through the white-haired boy’s wrist before he completely disappeared. 

“JACK!” the roar was louder this time, perpetrated by three of the Big Four and echoed by both of Santoff Claussen’s protectors.

Toothiana corrected her trajectory to hurl herself at the trio of the Nightmare Men. The last of the beings on the field were the very same perpetrators of the attack on Jack. Her wrath-filled bellow was unlike anything the Spirit of the Forest had heard from the sweet Guardian and it was something she could live without hearing again if the carnage left in Toothiana’s wake was par for the course in such situations.

Violently piercing her scimitars into the earth—allowing the black goo on the blades to seep from the metal after the slaughter—the last of the Sisters of Flight let out the most heartbreaking of wails. Sandy’s little cloud of Dreamsand drifted down, the glittering dust falling limply to the ground, mixing with the battle-torn land until it was indecipherable from one another while its owner just stood there, staring at the spot Jack Frost should have fallen. The remaining two Guardians hauled themselves over towards the weeping woman with Santoff Claussen’s protectors coming to stand not too far from the group. 

“How—?” North opened and closed his mouth a few times as the clouds finally parted, allowing the moon’s smiling face to gaze down on the scarred terrain.

“Impossible! The Tsar’s—” Bunny was just as baffled and even more upset. “No way—! Frostbite’s a Guardian—! There’s no—”

None took notice of the being made of pure light—wearing blackened light-absorbing armor made of metal unlike anything found on Earth—as he touched down not far from the group. Green eyes scanned the area as the dagger tied to the end of his staff glanced through the Dreamsand soaked soil. 

“Where is Jack Frost?” the newly arrived white-haired boy spoke ever so softly while still managing to gather the attention of all those that remain. When no answered seemed forthcoming, the green-eyed being briefly glanced at the heavenly orb above them. “The Man in the Moon felt the power of the Guardian of Fun he bestowed to Jack dither.”

Toothiana choked on her words as a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. “Nightlight… Jack’s… gone.”

Nightlight—for indeed this was Tsar Lunar’s personal Guardian and the first Guardian of Childhood—frowned at the Tooth Fairy’s words. “Gone how?”

“He disappeared,” the Bear’s blunt answer left a lot of room for misinterpretation which was why his counterpart filled the white-haired boy in.

Nightlight listened intently to the Spirit of the Forest before giving a curt nod and a hum of understanding. “Jack Frost’s ascension to this life was unprecedented. He was a spirit—"

“The Spirit of Winter,” Bunny cut the Tsar’s Guardian off. “Bloody hard to miss that Frostbite _is_ —” here, the Easter Bunny’s voice hitched “—i _s_ different than the rest of us when none of the rest of us received any additional powers when we became Guardians. Just enhanced what was already there.”

Nightlight sighed and slowly shook his head, dagger digging deeper into the soil. “You misunderstand, Jack Frost differs in he is less like the Guardians of Childhood and more like me, a Nightlight, but even then, he is unique.”

“I understand not,” North stepped forward, folding his arms over his chest to keep the trembling of his hands from worsening, “Nightlight is a Guardian like the rest of us, da? How does being more like Nightlight make Jack less like us? We are the same, nyet?”

This time, a voice that had not been heard for hundreds of years answered the Russian. “Not Nightlight, _The Nightlights_. In the history of the universe, there have been only seven other Nightlights with Nightlight being the eighth and last of them. A Nightlight was created from starlight, the laughs of ten thousand children, and a lock of hair from both the king and the queen of the Lunanoff family with the sole purpose of protecting their heir until the day they no longer needed protection from bad dreams.

“Nightlights were to never sleep or dream for they were to remain awake and fight off the Nightmares that sought to destroy their charge. Once their duty was fulfilled and they were no longer needed, they were finally allowed to rest. The prior seven Nightlights turned into stars and together, they create the constellation known as the Seven Stars of the Nightlights. As a Star Captain, I had the honor of guarding the constellation for a fortnight before I was assigned elsewhere.”

All eyes stared unwavering, unwilling to interrupt the small golden man who spoke only loud enough to prevent the winds from whisking his words away.

“MiM created Jack Frost from laughs?” dark brows furrowed together in confusion.

“No, that can’t be right,” Toothiana denied, pink eyes narrowing at the distorted reflection of herself in the metal of her blade. “I—I have his Tooth Box. Manny couldn’t have created him or else I wouldn’t have had his Tooth Box.”

Nightlight shook his head and paused before nodding once, letting the dagger dig even further into the ground. “Jack Frost was a child before, but he was already lost when Man in Moon chose him. He had to use a considerable amount of his power just to pull the child’s spirit up. He wasn’t able to rescue more than that of the lost child. Man in Moon endeavored to make the lost spirit a Guardian by way The Nightlight Ritual.”

“Pull up? Spirit? I understand even less,” North looked from Nightlight to Sandy, who’d reverted back to his normal nonverbal responses and answered with a giant golden question mark.

“For once, me and North agree on something. What the bloody hell does that even mean?” Bunny growled, paws pulling his ears back in frustration.

“Jack Frost is a spiritual being, his physical form composed of starlight like Nightlight,” Ombric Shalazar voiced out as the aged stereotypical wizard with robes, a pointed hat, and a long white beard hobbled across the uneven terrain, relying on his misshapen staff to keep his balance. “Isn’t that correct, Nightlight?”

The boy made of light frowned but slowly nodded his head as if he agreed. The slight hesitation belied the validity of his agreement. It was almost as if Nightlight agreed with the aged wizard’s assessment but not entirely and he was unsure how to correct the wizard.

“I thought so,” Ombric stroked his beard, aged eyes missing the hesitation of the white-haired boy as they surveyed the scarred earth before falling on the twin scimitars protruding from the ground. “It would explain why he faded when severely injured by the Nightmare Men. I surmise the weapons the Nightmare Men wielded were cursed to disturb MiM’s magic coursing through your bodies. If they’d manage to land a significant blow to any of you, the curse would disturb the Lunanoff magic, leaving you weakened and as you were before you became Guardians. Since young Jack’s body was made of starlight bond together with MiM’s magic, the result was a loss of cohesion rather than the alternative, and his form dissipated.”

The wizard hummed and turned his back on the group still coming to terms with his conjectures. “We best not be idle, there isn’t that much time to waste if we wish to save young Jack before he’s completely gone. I may be able to recall his spirit and restore cohesion to his magical form before he departs to the afterlife. But we will need something of his for the spell to work or Jack Frost will truly be lost to us for good.”

Toothiana shot up, eyes brightening with unshed tears and hope. “His Tooth Box is at the Palace.”

“I will get sleigh and—” North agreed, reaching in his pockets in search of a snow globe.

Bunny cut the Cossack off. “Na-huh, we’ll use one of my tunnels to get there and bring it back in two hops.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Ombric dashed all their budding plans. “We would need something from the form he was in now, not that of the lost child.”

The Big Four looked worriedly at each other. Hope dying once more when none of them immediately jump forth with an answer.

There was a lull of silence as the four Guardians traded looks with one another, hoping upon hope one of them would have something but none were forthcoming. The Tooth Box the Guardian of Memories guarded was the only item any of the Guardians had that belonged to the eternal teenager. Jack had never had anything other than the staff he’d always carried with him and the clothes off his back when he’d come to visit any of them. There was nothing for him to leave behind which would constitute being from the form he had now.

“Would this do?”

All eyes turned towards the Spirit of the Forest as she offered up her sleeve.

“Ichor?” the wizard eyed the small shimmering stain. “There isn’t much, but it should do in a pinch. Come, Mr. Qwerty will know the exact specifics of the spell and I believe I have everything else needed back at Big Root.”

The last vestigials of the Golden Age—be it the few refugees or those that Manny had drafted into his war—hastily headed through Santoff Claussen’s boundaries and within a moment a shimmering opalescent wall appeared, solidifying before becoming invisible once more. He waited a few more moments before slithering out of the shadows and glanced up, glowering up at the darkened sky. The _Moon Clipper_ was no longer visible, it wouldn’t have been with thick clouds rolling across the sky but it never hurt to check to see if the Man in Moon could be watching.

Stepping out of the shadow of a shrunken tree, a tall gaunt man with ashen-grey skin and glossy black hair slicked back into sharp spikes dawdled into the open. His sharp narrow features were made even more predominate due to his clenched jaw as golden laced silver eyes resembling an eclipse scanned the stained land. Black robes similar to that of a priest’s cassock clung to his form as he glided through the clearing, making him nearly indistinguishable from the darkness as he moved in and out of the withering shadows.

A sneer crossed his lips as he came to a stop, standing before where the Guardian of Fun had fallen. 

It also happened to be the same place where the residue of the unknown force echoed the strongest. The feeling was faint, nothing like the heady intoxicating _power_ that had resonated with his core from halfway across the world. It had enticed him, beckoning him to follow it all the way to the outermost borders of Santoff Claussen. It was there he’d hesitated. 

Pitch Black was not scared. He was the monster that went bump in the night, the Boogeyman, the King of Nightmares, he did not feel fear, he inspired it. Above all, he was no fool. The Nightmare King had faced off against the Bear and the Spirit of the Forest—both separately and together—a few times before and come out on top. He’d been at his peak then and that was not the case now. The incident of Easter 2012 had left him far more vulnerable than he’d been since the end of the Dark Ages and his fall from power. He wasn’t about to breach Santoff Claussen’s borders as he was.

Not alone anyways.

His Nightmares wouldn’t cut it, not in his current state. Pitch didn’t have the army needed to storm Santoff Claussen and he hadn’t the strength to create the amount needed for such a task in his weakened state. Even if he could make the numbers necessary to attempt such an undertaking, the pathetic whisps would be fragile and weak at best. Only able to take a few feeble steps before disintegrating on themselves. No, Nightmares wouldn’t do.

Yet, as he stood deliberating his options, the heady force only grew in potency and Pitch couldn’t resist the temptation. He might not recognize the sensation as something belonging to the Golden Ages but the undercurrent carried with it was familiar, universal even. Unbridled fear, the amount of which he’d felt twice before. Once at the end of the Golden Ages when it was clear he’d win only for the _Moon Clipper_ to escape his clutches and a second time during the hight of the Dark Ages when his the inferior magics of this world were snuffed out.

Pitch was not about to let the unbridled fear slip through his hands. Not when he could harness that fear for himself and finally destroy the last remnants of the Golden Ages for good before reducing this pitiful world to a wasteland of terror and fears he could mold into his perfect kingdom. The King of Nightmares would reign supreme _if_ he could reach the source of the unbridled fear and he had just the ace up his sleeve in mind.

When he’d abandoned the _Nightmare Galleon_ and its Dream Pirate crew to plummet down to Earth as he took the skiff to safety, he’d taken a few things from the ship. One of which happened to be a chest full of creatures that hadn’t been seen since the Golden Ages. He’d saved the chest as a secret weapon. One he’d readily sacrificed as a diversion to ensure his success in finding the source of the unknown force laced with the all-encompassing fear.

The Nightmare Men overwhelmed Santoff Claussen’s protectors and he’d managed to infiltrate the village with little resistance. Yet despite all his meticulous searching, he could not pinpoint the source. It seemingly blanketed the land with its heady power and then, suddenly, it receded. Pitch slunk through the shadows, chasing after the consolidating power that had him trembling at the overwhelming levels of intoxicating fumes left in its wake until he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the Guardians of Childhood battling alongside Santoff Claussen’s protectors.

Pitch Black arrived in time to see Jack Frost struck down and felt the unfamiliar power surged, surrounding the white-haired nuisance as it faded along with the Guardian of Fun. Disappointment seized his heart, not just because the power was now gone but because it wasn’t him who’d managed to put in end to the spirit. Now that he was standing before the echoing remnants of the heady force, he was left wondering just what it was.

And how did he find it again?

* * *

As it turned out, Big Rood did indeed have everything required for the spell but it took time to prepare and every second it took was another second closer to losing Jack for good. Everyone involved knew they couldn’t rush the preparations or they risk making a mistake, and then the Guardian of Fun would indeed be beyond their reach, but knowing and doing were very different. It didn’t help matters much that the Guardians didn’t have much in the way to contribute and were forced to the side to wait and watch which compounded their growing fears. Even with all of Big Root pitching in and assisting, it took far too long to set up in the Guardians’ opinion, then again, what felt like an eternity to them was less than thirty minutes.

With the ichor stained sleeve floating in an ash bowl filled with water melted from freshly fallen snow in a hot spring, Ombric placed the bowl in the middle of Santoff Claussen’s library and took three steps back. With a booming voice, he began to incant as a woman—who was on the shorter side of average, with thick auburn curls and grey eyes darting from line to line of the bound book in her hands—quietly whispered the words of the spell loud enough for only him to hear. Katherine, having learned of the attack on her home, had flown back to the village on Kailash—an orphaned Great Snow Goose of the Himalayas she’d raised since it was a hatchling—and all but threw her yellow fur-coat at a startled rabbit when she stormed into the library and promptly got to work. 

The first indication the spell was having any effect came in the form of the water in the ash bowl freezing instantly and shattering the wooden bowl to pieces. The whole room flinched. Each warrior reflexively went for the nearest weapon but Ombric didn’t stop his incantation. Katherine’s words might have faltered yet she was quick to resume reading the spell. Grey eyes briefly flickered toward Nightlight, noting the frown on his face as vigilant green eyes darted from one window to the next. 

Between one whispered word and the next, a gust of wind pulsed through the library. Throwing the tightly sealed window wide open, the invisible force angrily swirled around the small space. Ripping parchment from the desk and throwing books on the floor, the winds easily snuffed out the blazing fire roaring with life in the fireplace and would have torn the book from the Guardian of Storytelling’s hand if not for the fact the book in question was Mr. Qwerty, a fully matured Glowworm.

In all the windy mayhem, shimmering particles of dust sparked to life. They were drawn in towards the bloodstain cloth encased in ice as the ichor let off an unnatural glow. The particles grew brighter, pulsating in time to an unheard heartbeat while rearranging themselves above the chunk of ice. 

“Blimey,” Bunny swore as the winds picked up yet again and he was forced to duck or be hit by a flying skull. Even Sandy’s sands had a hard time forming without being blown away.

“This is part of the spell, no?” North question, eyes mere slights as the shimmering particles came together in a blurring silhouette.

“No,” Kathrine answered, having uttered the last of the spell to her father who was now reciting the spell for a second time from memory. “This shouldn’t be happening. Something isn’t quite right.”

“Bloody brilliant,” the Guardian of Hope’s sarcasm was somehow audible above the screaming winds.

“Is there anything we can do?” Toothiana questioned, having to hold on to one of the branches bisecting the library to keep from being knocked off her feet.

Katherine chewed at the bottom of her lip, eyes darting back and forth from her father to the rest of the room in search of a solution. Her grasp on Mr. Qwerty loosened just slightly in her distracted state, but it was enough for the winds to rip the book from her hands and throw the Glowworm straight towards the embers sparkling in the fireplace. Mr. Qwerty’s desperate attempts to flap his bookwings and steer clear of the hot coals were of no use. 

Nightlight leapt for the Glowworm, taking the most direct route across the room. However, no sooner than he was within a foot of the shimmering particles did the winds suddenly stop and a concussive force surged forth, sending them all to the ground and hurling the white-haired boy into a bookcase. Only Ombric was left standing, an iridescent shield shimmering before him, showing how he’d managed such a feat.

“I wasn’t aware the spell required an array,” the Spirit of the Forest was the first to catch her breath, gracefully getting to her feet to inspect the pulsing array of light streaming from within the grain of the floor. Her foot must have come a tad too close for the array darkened to an angry, blood-red color and pulsed outward once more before reverting to the white hue it had been when Santoff Claussen’s protector stumbled back into the Bear who steady the woman on her feet.

“It didn’t,” Mr. Qwerty squeaked, clinging to a branch for dear life. The moment he’d let go to get a better look at the array from an aerial viewpoint had been a mistake and he was propelled back with even more force than the Spirit of the Forest had been, the red hue staying darker longer before seeping back into the white light.

“Something’s wrong,” Ombric helpfully voiced the obvious, earning him a number of scowls from several of the room’s occupants. “Any ideas, daughter?”

“I don’t know. We might have accidentally added something to the spell, or skipped a step,” Katherine answered, fingers twitching for a pen and paper. She had a feeling, that whatever just happened, would make a great story, but it would only be the first chapter of a much longer tale, and where that tale would lead, even she could not guess. 

“We did everything by the book,” the Glowworm insisted and began reciting the spell step by step.

“Is there nothing we can do?” North’s voice easily overpowered Mr. Qwerty’s rant.

“I believe, I believe, I believe!” Ombric suddenly shouted, startling the rest of the occupants of the room. “I summon forth Jack Frost from whence he was taken to bring him back. I believe, I believe, I believe!”

Slowly, the ice seeped from the ichor saturated cloth, behaving more like a liquid than a solid as it transferred up into the air, capturing the particles of glimmering light which had lost the vague silhouette during the commotion. The icy liquid then congealed into a mass, taking shape of the missing Guardian of Fun while the ichor ran from the material and covered the white array as the light shifted to a bloodier hue.

All held their breath as the final particles came together and Jack Frost solidified. His white hair and blue hoodie shifting gently in the breeze as the boy floated above the ground. A crackle. A warning. The briefest of elation before the subdued array burst forth, destroying the ichor suppressing it and agitating the wind back into a frenzy.

All were forced to shield their eyes, so none noticed when the liquid ice solidified around the floating boy. Neither did they notice as his clothing changed from that of a hoodie to a heavy cloak and his missing staff appeared over crossed arms, joined by a Viking shield decorated with a black dragon and a smudge of red on the tail. His hair darkened to brown and his skin gain a healthy hue. 

“I believe, I believe, I believe!” Katherine wasn’t sure what her father had in mind, but she believed in him and trusted his judgment. If he thought belief was all it took then she too would believe with all her might. “We _will_ bring Jack Frost back!”

“I believe, I believe, I believe,” the Bear echoed after his creator’s daughter, followed by his fellow protector and soon the rest of the room joined in.

A crack followed by a bright flash of red light was all the warning they got as shards exploded outwards. Just as sudden as the chaos started, it ended and when Katherine peeked out from underneath Nightlight, she saw the motionless body of a white-haired teenager slumped on the floor surrounded by fragments of ice.

“It worked,” the Guardian of Storytelling sighed in relief which was about the same time she took notice of the accumulation of ichor seeping from the newly reformed spirit’s body and all hell broke loose once more.

* * *

Toothiana was in the midst of relinquishing the chair to Bunny when it happened. The Guardian of Hope’s compelling argument about checking in on her fairies and how they were handling the responsibilities of collecting the teeth without her constant presence was forgotten as Jack Frost surged forth from the bed, gasping for air. Blue eyes wildly zipped around the room North had graciously set aside for the comatose Guardian in one of the wings of his personal residence. The Guardian of Memories could tell those icy orbs weren’t really seeing anything as their owner made a vague hiccup like sound.

“Crickey, hold up there mate, it’s fine. You’re fine, everything is fine, calm down,” Bunny was quick to reassure the white-haired spirit while gently pushing him back on to the bed. Well, he tried, but Jack fought him every step of the way.

“Tooth—“ his voice was harsh from disuse and Toothiana could no longer hold herself back, pushing the Guardian of Hope out of the way to take his place by the boy’s side, “—less—”

The Tooth Fairy ignored Jack’s incoherent ramblings in favor of providing the agitated teen some comfort. “Yes, yes, Jack, it’s me, it’s Tooth, I’m here, don’t worry, the fight’s over, breathe. Come on Sweet Tooth, breathe.”

Thankfully, the disoriented Guardian listened. Inhaling and exhaling irregularly a few times before finding a rhythm. The Tooth Fairy patiently watched Jack, waited for him to come to his senses. He didn’t move right away, but she did notice when blue eyes started to really see, darting from the walls to the bookshelves and finally coming to land on the bed he’d been laying in. She was surprised when he stiffened in her arms rather than relaxing as she’d imagined he would after he realized he was at the North Pole.

“That’s right, Jack, breathe. Calm down, everything is fine,” Toothiana continued to soothe the distraught boy in hopes of getting him to unwind, rubbing soothing circles on his back like her father use to do for her when she was a child.

“Tooth?” the broken voice breathed out as hands went to his aching throat but the motion was halted mid gesture. Jack froze for a minute, just staring at his trembling hands before yanking the blankets off of him to stare down at the pristine white bandages crisscrossing his torso.

“Jack?” icy blue eyes darted back up to stare into pink orbs. Toothiana hoped her eyes didn’t betray her ever-increasing worry as the uncharacteristic behavior coming from the youngest Guardian continued. There was nothing she could do about the unshed tears of happiness that Jack was finally awake, but she really didn’t want to frighten the poor boy further.

“Toothiana?” Jack’s voice wavered only slightly, a bit stronger than it was before, but it was still too weak for her liking.

“Oh Jack, you’re awake,” the Tooth Fairy couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around the white-haired teenager. She wrapped him in a tight hug, proving to herself that he was there and alive and it wasn’t a dream. The tears she’d been holding at bay could no longer be contained and fell as the flock of tiny Tooth Fairies—led by Baby Tooth—she’d kept with her for company quivered around Jack, snuggling up to him and chirping in their own delight that he was finally awake. 

“You have no idea how worried we all were—” Toothiana sucked in a breathe, trying to recall all the different things she’d fantasized saying to Jack when he’d finally pulled out of his a coma but the words which came out weren’t what she’d been intending to say. One glance into those glacier blue eyes had words she’d never even considered flowing out of her lips instead of the praise she’d practiced a thousand times over in the last week. “—Never do that again! Do you hear me? Never. Understand?”

Jack didn’t seem to be expecting the chastise any more than she been intending to say it. Still, he listlessly nodded his head in understanding. It was enough to put Toothiana’s rapidly beating heart to rest.

“Good,” the Guardian of Memories let out a sigh and yanked the boy into her chest for one more hug, resting her chin on top of soft white locks. 

There was a brief silence before a quiet voice—so unlike how the Guardian of Fun usually was—broke the air. “What happened?”

Toothiana knew she hadn’t been able to keep her emotions in check when she pulled away for a second time. The choked sob and fresh track of tears running down her face were a big indication. Thankfully, the Guardian of Hope was there to comfort her while she comforted Jack.

“Sheila, it’s alright Sheila. Frostbite’s here with us, he’s alright, memory lapse is to be expected especially around the time of the attack—”

“I remember Santoff Claussen being under attack by Nightmare Men,” both of the older Guardians looked down at the white-haired teenager, having forgotten him momentarily. “I meant what happened after that? What happened after I—”

Jack’s words caught in his throat morphing into a strangled groan as he doubled over. 

“JACK!” two voices overlapped, echoing through the room and carrying into the next room over where they were picked up by the approaching group. The unhurried steps quickly transformed to thunderous roars as the door was thrown open. North was the first in the room, taking in the sight of Bunny holding Toothiana back as a now awake Jack Frost stared down at his translucent hand.

“North, out of the way,” Ombric’s usual joyous voice held a bit of steel as a staff jabbed him forward and to the right. Nightlight and Katherine quickly followed after and the trio quickly got to work while Sandy lingered behind them with North. Katherine pulled the other two Guardians away from the bed, giving the other two men room to work. 

Nightlight was the first to come up with a potential solution and swung his staffed dagger to point directly towards Jack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other Guardians tense but Katherine kept them at bay. Knowing the other Guardians wouldn’t be interfering, green orbs closed as he searched for the energies deep within him, the spark of his birth blessed upon him by the Lunaoffs and pulled it forth.

The white glow of the star inside him was brought forth and he channeled that energy into Jack. Ombric, following the green-eyed boy’s lead, placed his staff on top of his own and let his own magic rush forth, encircling Jack and pulled his separating molecules back together. When his hand was once more as it should be, Ombric and Nightlight creased the flow of magics while the Guardian of Fun inspected his hand. 

Fearful blue eyes glanced up in search of answers. “Wh—what was that?”

Seeing how none of the Guardians were forthcoming with answers and his daughter and Nightlight were busy having a telepathic conversation, the wizened wizard took it upon himself to explain. “You were gravely injured when you intercepted the attack meant for Toothiana. I arrived in time to see the Nightmare Men’s’ spears tear through you and had hoped to intervene. I was too late to keep you from getting hurt, but—thankfully—I was not too late to save you.”

“Oh.” The owlish expression on Jack’s face had Katherine sighing at her father’s poor excuse at a reassuring explanation. She wished he’d waited long enough for her to finish her conversation with Nightlight before opening his mouth. They had been discussing the best way to break the news gently to the eternal teenager after all, but Ombric had to go and ruin those plans.

“What my father is trying to say is that the weapons the Nightmare Men wounded you with severed the link you have with MiM and disrupted the energies that make up your form, causing you to lose cohesion. Father was able to pull you back before you could cross over to the afterlife, but your core was significantly weakened resulting in you being in a coma-like state. 

“It has taken some time for your form to reach an equilibrium without losing cohesion in parts of your body. That’s what you saw, Jack, your body losing cohesion in your hand. Nothing more. There is little cause for concern. We had hoped that when you awoke, your body would no longer fluctuate, but it appears not.”

“Worry not,” Ombric happily waved his staff about, smiling brightly. “I surmise the spell to reform your vessel also reformed the Nightmare Men’s agent that severed your link with MiM and we just need to find a safe way to cleanse your spirit and you’ll be right as rain. With all of us, and MiM, working on it, we’ll surely find a way to fix you right up in no time at all.”

Jack’s voice was weak but they were all able to hear his confusion. “A coma? Asleep? I’ve been asleep? How long? How long have I been asleep?”

“A little over a week,” North stepped forward to stand by the Tooth Fairy. “We brought you to the workshop since you’d recover faster in the cold, da?”

Toothiana readily nodded her head. “We’ve been taking turns sitting with you while you recovered. Sandy’s made sure you’d have the best of dreams with his Dreamsand and I brought your Tooth Box—" the Guardian of Memories motioned to the Tooth Box sitting on the bedside table, “—so maybe your happier memories would bleed over into your dreams. Bunny brought you a blanket with a little bit of his Hope layered into it, said it was to help you heal faster but I think it’s because he caught you shivering once while he was sitting with you.”

Here, the woman made a motion to the white fur blanket at the end of the bed before pointing to a group of ice sculptures next to the Tooth Box. “North, not to be left out, made you some sculptures with his Wonder infused with the ice. I think he also might have been telling you stories with them as well. Phil mended your hoodie—”

Toothiana finally took notice of the overwhelmed expression on the blue-eyed teen’s face and trailed off.

“Jack, are you okay?”

The Guardian of Fun opened his mouth, only to close it with a click and a shake of his head. He didn’t say anything for the rest of the day.

* * *

“How’s Frostbite?” Bunny prompt as the meeting between the Big Four came to an end. Normally, when it was North’s turn to host such meetings, they were held in the Globe Room in the workshop but this time he’d ushered them into the same overly large and lavish sitting room they’d all spent numerous of hours in over the last week. From there, they could all easily keep an eye on Jack through the opened door as they discussed the implications of the massive assault on Santoff Claussen by the previously unheard of fraction of Nightmare Men.

North didn’t even bother to look in the room as he placed the plate of cookies down on the table. He knew, without looking, that the eternal teen was still curled up on the bed, back to the door.

“He is not himself, very lifeless.”

Sandy’s Dreamsand grabbed his attention before drifting back to its owner and making complex symbols over the short man’s head.

“He has not moved from the bed much,” the Cossack answered with a heavy heart. Quickly, he dismissed the feeling in an attempt to spin his dark thoughts into positive hopes. “Only sits there and stares out the window. Maybe it is because it’s his body’s way of recovering on its own, da?”

The Guardian of Memories had to go and dash his optimistic spin with a shake of her head as she drew her eyes away from the teenager who’d briefly flickered out of and back into existence. “I don’t think so. He hasn’t tried to use any of his powers, has he? Could that be affecting his recovery?”

“No, has not even been flying at all, just wanders around on foot, aimlessly, when he not in bed. Phil found him in the library the other day but he would not say what he was doing there,” North answered. They’d already gone through the North Pole’s vast library the first time they’d noticed Jack flickering during his coma. Hours were wasted researching book after book in search of a solution with nothing to show for it. 

A golden tree took shape over Sandy followed by the form of a Glowworm that was replaced by a boy sitting on a crescent moon.

North slowly shook his head from side to side. “No, Ombric and Katherine returned to Big Root to research the books in their library and Nightlight left behind a relic, which should be of some help, before he went off in search of a cure.”

All of them were grateful to Nightlight for leaving the relic behind; it had been a long shot the thing would work in the first place. None, not even the former Lunanoffs knew what the relic did when they gifted it to the newly minted Nightlight during the Golden Ages. It was very old then and even older now. They knew nothing of what it was, what it was supposed to do and to what extent, or even how long the effects lasted was a mystery. Whatever it was, though, it was a blessing since it prevented Jack from flickering.

“Do you think he might have lost his winter abilities? Maybe that could be part of the problem,” Bunny rubbed his chin in deep thought. “We never did figure out where his winter affinity came from. Maybe that staff was the source of the power and without it, his body can’t rebalance itself and expel the harmful magics?”

Baby Tooth perked up from her spot on the Tooth Fairy’s shoulder, feathers ruffling as she looked from the Guardian of Hope to the open door with a thoughtful look.

“That could be,” Toothiana hummed, her attention dividing as the little fairy on her shoulder gave an urgent squeak.

Baby Tooth wasted no time in retelling the events of Easter of 2012 concerning herself and Jack. For once, there were no other fairies about for the Tooth Fairy to relay coordinates to or newly arrived teeth for her to inspect to distract the Guardian of Memories from listening to the tiny fairy’s whole tale in its entirety. 

The resulting outburst was a long time overdue in Baby Tooth’s opinion. “ _Pitch_ did **_what_**?” 

The whole room came to a standstill at Toothiana’s outburst, eyes drawn to the woman currently standing stalk-still sans the way her greenish-blue feathers ruffled and puffed out.

North, brave in the direst of situations, drew the warrior queen’s attention on himself, ignoring the Guardian of Dream’s insistent tugging on his coat. “What? What is it?”

Toothiana, inexplicably, fumbled for words. “During Easter of `12, when Jack…when Jack rescued Baby Tooth from Pitch, he did so by trading his staff for her safety. Pitch… _Pitch_ broke the staff causing Jack physical pain. Nothing like the mental disorientation and headaches the loss of a normal foci would cause, but as if he’d been physically attacked himself.”

“How is possible?” the former thief looked to the Pooka for answers. Instead, he found a horrified E. Aster Bunnymund.

“How are we just hearing about this now?” the Guardian of Hope demanded as Sandy latched on to his paw. Breaking free, he paced back and forth before the open door. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

Toothiana looked to the group of fairies surrounding the plate of cookies for answers. Tiny eyes gazed up at her with unsurprised features as they all shrugged and looked to Baby Tooth for an answer. The small fairy with a gold feather—so like the Tooth Fairy’s own—did the only thing she could. She answered truthfully.

The warrior queen’s feet colliding with the floor was deafening and it broke Baby Tooth’s heart she’d been the one to cause such a reaction.

“No one bothered to ask,” Toothiana listlessly translated.

The room grew eerily still. Even Sandy, who’d been ready to grab the closest elf by the hat and shake him for all he was worth, creased all motion. None of them liked the implications. They liked themselves even less for what those implications implied about them.

A soft tug at her hand had the Tooth Fairy wiping back the unshed tears to get a good look at Sandy. “What is it, Sandy?”

Letting out a sad smile, the Sandman created a giant arrow pointing through the opened door to an empty bed. The shutters gently banged against the opened window as a small flurry of snow drifted inside. 

Jack was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Pitch Black’s head bolted up, golden laced silver eyes narrowing as the unfamiliar power blipped back into existence. It was nowhere near as heady or powerful as before. But it was there and this time, he wasn’t going to let it getaway. He didn't care that the trail led him back to a place he swore never to step foot it again: Burgess.


	5. Grisly History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nefariousaway: I'm happy you enjoyed the series so far and to know that I helped you connect with your Dad better by listening to his history lessons about Druids is awesome. I can't say I don't mean to make people cry, because that wouldn't be truthful. As a writer, I want to convey the emotions but at the same time, I feel bad for making you cry. Sorry!
> 
> Red_dragonfruit: YES! Hiccup totally gave Jack a courting gift in the form of an ornate shield with his crest on it. (Also, yes, Hiccup is not subtly in the least by making Jackson's family crest as a Night Fury. He's a possessive little *err* tall, Viking). As for your second review, Shhh! You've stumbled on to a future plot point (and I'm so giddy someone picked up on that. Good job!).
> 
> Madcap_Miss: Please take a big, deep breath, and let it out. Then go to the Let's Punch the Moon panic room and I'll sit here and see if we somehow gain an unexpected eclipse tonight. Okay, onwards with your fantastic review. Yes, Pitch totally dismisses earth based magic only to drool over catching a hint of its power and picking up the Nightmare Men were specifically targeting Jack? Brilliant, another checkmark in your box. As for the whole thing about Manny not realizing what he was doing with the ritual was spot on and I'll be watching for that unexpected eclipse in the near future.
> 
> Also, I might have been channeling Dumbledore and his Great Good, holier than thou mentality when writing Ombric...enough said. But, I might have kinda been thinking of our Phoenix (*Waves* Hi Crystal) when writing Katherine as wanting to save a life like a nurse, rather than playing god.
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter, though warning, it is darker than I first intended but...well, you'll see why.

The night was on fire. The calm sea was dark as the night sky save for the burning ships dotting the horizon. Thunderous roars accompanied by terrifying shrieks filled the air. Out of the carnage, one vessel glided through the waters regardless of the war raging on her decks. Her sails catching the winds and pulling her further out from the numerous infernos raging on either of her sides, her single pontoon screeching as it brushed up against her drowned sister’s carcass. Embers danced from the other dying ships—some still clinging to life unlike the ones claimed by a watery grave—but her haul weathered and worn as it was, did not ignite. The blood soaking in her wood a blessing and a curse.

Below deck was not spared, for the invaders had torn her open and breached her bowels. She was built for speed and defense, but more importantly, she was built to transport treasured valuables and that was worth the body count that scattered her from stem to stern. With compartment after compartment filled with precious cargo, thick latticed bars kept the treasures contained while dangerous traps designed to disallow looters from reaching the Captain’s Quarters on the opposite end. Yet, it was not enough, not enough to keep her cargo or herself safe. Then again, there was nothing she could do when the rot came from within.

The ceiling shook as a muted cry abruptly cut off and heavy footsteps sprinted onwards to engage with another foe. Each step scattering puffs of debris downwards, making the already poorly lit cabin even hazier. A pale slender hand with long fingers reached up and brushed the falling filth from the scapular made of black leather. With the cowl made from the same cut as the scapular draping over an equally black tunic, one could easily mistake the tall figure for a friar in the darkness. However, he was anything but and as he stalked passed the compartments full of hissing and snarling, the scaly armor and metal studs on his clothing glittering in the torchlight.

“Gentlemen, I do hope there is not a problem here, is there?” the words spoken were well cultured but the voice was low, not yet reaching the peak of maturity. Obviously, the voice of someone at the tail end of puberty but his too sharp chin and too bright pale blue eyes made it hard to see anything less than the daunting slender cut of a man.

The group of bloody and tattered men surrounding the door reeled back, going for their weapons only to still at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

“Why hunting of course,” a pale hand patted the deadly crossbow situated on his left hip. One of the men eyed the weapon with caution, his hand tightening around the pommel of his sheathed sword but didn’t brandish the blade. “Is there a problem?”

“Boss took the prisoner in there to interrogate him, hoped to break his spirit by showing him what he’d done with some of his _precious_ _cargo_ and what will happen to the rest if he doesn’t cooperate,” another of the men spoke, stepping aside to wave at the door. “There was shouting and a few of the men said they saw some flashes of lights coming from underneath, then nothing.”

“And why haven’t you opened the door?” the man asked, a single pale eyebrow rising.

“The door _won’t_ open,” and as if to prove his point, he reached for the doorknob, only for it to fall off in his hand. A look of revulsion and anger crossed the battered man’s face as his fist tightened around the now useless piece of metal. Throwing the thing aside, he rammed his shoulder against the solid wood. It didn’t budge. 

A strangled laugh, cutoff partway by a wet cough had heads turning to the nearest compartment where a woman was chained to the wall. 

“The door won’t open, _never again_ , not for you, _not for any of you!_ ” came the delirious ramblings through cackles of laughter, her words spoken more like a tune than normal that of a speech. “The doorknob’s gone, _the enchantments gone_ , he’s gone, _but so is your boss_. I felt it, _I felt his Death Curse_ , there is nothing more you can do, _you have lost_.”

“My dear captain, it seems that it is _you_ who have lost,” a wicked smile spread across pale features as the slender man confidently strolled forward, rapping his knuckles on the bars and enjoying the yowls that came from the Night Terrors within.

“Filth,” glazed over eyes lost some of their haze as a moment of clarity washed over the former captain of the very vessel. Hissing, she surged forth as far as the restraints allowed, chains rattling. “Scum. Foul cretin! You are worse than Uther’s Bloody Fist, _Traitor_.”

The shout had him reeling away from the bars. Not from the words themselves, but from the mighty beast that threw itself at the bars, rattling the whole cage. A hiss of displeasure bubbled up from its throat, scales gleaming as the dragon paced back and forth. Slitted eyes never leaving the cause of his aggression. Ignoring the snickering coming from the men behind him, the slender man straightening himself and glared down at the beast.

“A Night Fury,” disdain tainted his voice as he sneered at the glowing green eyes of the predator.

The captain choked before throwing her head back and cackled, blood trickling down the side of her mouth by the time she was down. “You really are just a boy playing at being a man. You know nothing, Grimmel. _Nothing!_ ”

“I know far more than you think, _captain_. I’ve done far more than you know! When I was a boy, I came upon such a beast and killed it where it slept. That simple act of courage made people take _notice_ of _me_ ,” Grimmel snarled.

“It _made_ you a _monster_ ,” the woman spat, lips curled back to reveal a mouthful of blood-stained teeth. “A rabid dog that needs to be put down.”

“Oh, and who will do such a thing? _You?_ You who are caged within the very compartments meant to save these creatures? It is your own devices that now hold you prisoner and you think you can kill me?” the pale man smirked, tapping the bars one last time and turning towards their rivetted audience. “I beg your pardon, but I don’t have time for this. I have a hunt to return to. Carry on.”

The voice of the captain put a halt to his retreat. “Not me, not now, but you should know, your future has been _Seen_. This betrayal was _Seen_ long before I took over the captaincy of this ship. I knew, even before stepping foot on her decks, that I would go down with this ship. A Seer saw this moment and carved her future into the wood of the Captain’s Quarters. Do you want to know what he wrote? I remember it well, I read it every night as I lay my head down to rest. It was rather uplifting to know that the one who shall be my downfall will have an even greater fall of their own. It was poetic even.

 _‘With grief in his heart and vengeance in his veins, cross not the fury of the night or face your fate. Seize the Spirit of a Guardian and ensnare your end. Beware The Druid of Berk, beware your end.’_ ”

“The words of a charlatan,” Grimmel didn’t bother to turn round to address the misguided woman, not in the least bit daunted.

“The words of Myddin Wyllt.”

The pale man stumbled and the world tilted around him, the vessel lurching to the side as her haul scraped across submerged, jagged rocks. Behind him, the hysterical laughter of the vessel’s former captain rang in his ears but it was her words that kept repeating over and over and _over_ again. Words he could not slay as easily as the bolt slinging from his crossbow, piercing flesh. The hysterical laughter morphing into screams of anguish as dragon’s blood seeped into the dying husk of her ship. He left without further ado, not staying a minute longer, not even for his payment. 

The shadows of the night chased after him.

The captain’s words forever haunting his dreams.

Not even time could erase them from his memory. 

The words a lingering taunt in the back of his mind, mocking him with each rumored sighting of a _Fury of the Night_. His former master—a man who’d taken him in and under his wing after he was _noticed_ for his _heroic deed—_ had aided him in cultivating his primitive skills into something decent, but his teachings had also distracted him from his true calling. From what had made him a _hero_ in the first place. It was him that was the _hunter_ , not the _prey._ Something that Grimmel was forced to remind his master as the man lay dying at his feet. 

Grimmel had forgotten what it was like to kill a Night Fury. The feeling of euphoria and glee all-encompassing, overwhelming to the point it silenced the words haunting his every thought. But the feeling didn’t last and the horrific prophecy hunted him down as he tracked down and killed Night Fury after Night Fury. With each death, the echoed words grew a little less ominous, a little less frightening until one day the sight of a Night Fury didn’t send dread down his spine but excitement. The fear of his death slowly fading away, replaced with delight and the thrill of the hunt with each new trophy. Killing Night Furies was no longer about surviving, it was something he lived for. He could finally revel in the experience as he once had done when he’d first killed a Night Fury as a boy. 

In his single-minded determination to rid the world of his personal reapers, he’d further honed his skills, expanded his crafts, and made a new name for himself: Grimmel the Grisly.

A name that spread far and wide throughout the Barbaric Archipelago and beyond. 

The name of a hero; the greatest hunter.

 _The Night Fury Killer_.

The first time a barbaric Viking offered him gold to hunt down a dragon not of the Night Fury variety, Grimmel gutted him where he stood. As time wore on and the fewer Night Furies there were to be found, the pale man found himself drifting. Without a master to guide him and no sightings of his personal reapers to hunt, he had no clear objective in mind. He lived for so long with the sole purpose of hunting down the Night Furies that with the diminishing fear for his life, he found living his life rather dull. Thus, when the next trader to request his hunting skills in taking down a beast, instead of taking the gold from a corpse, he took the job.

Hunting the Crimson Goregutter was different. The challenge came in the form of the sheer size of the beast more than anything else. The thrill was there, but it couldn’t compare to cutting down one of the so-called Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death. The lack of boredom and smidgen of exhilaration brought back into his otherwise dull life more than made up for any deficiencies. The gold didn’t hurt either.

With each new contract he took, the pale hunter’s intolerance for dragons grew. Dragons— _all dragons_ and not just Night Furies as he came to learn—were nothing more than murderers and thieves. Humans were far superior in every way to the inferior species and the only way for humans to thrive as they were meant to was to wipe out all the wretched dragons from the world. An ideology he lived by for the next several years. Killing not only his personal reapers and the beasts with bounties on their heads, but every dragon that dared to cross his path died at his hands. 

However, Grimmel was forced to amend his worldviews after one particular grueling hunt. He distinctively remembered his master’s lessons on how many of the Witchfinders employed the very magics they fought against, using enchanted items and cursed chains to find and subdue their prey. Grimmel saw no problem in doing the same. He began fighting fire with fire. Or in this case, fire with venom. Deathgripper Venom to be precise. The catalyst which changed his very method of hunting.

His first encounter with a Deathgripper was one he would sooner forget. He killed the creature but not before it got in a strike of its own with its venom-filled tail. Something he hadn’t thought much of until the venom took hold and he spent the night in agony. Paralyzed on the rocky cliffs he’d been descending as his system worked rigorously to expel the toxins from his veins. The burning rash that covered his whole body as the paralysis wore off lasted for days but was nothing in comparison to the grating pins and needles sensation leftover. Never again did he want to repeat such an experience; yet, it left him with ideas.

A paralyzing agent could be very useful, especially when handling live bait. Moreover, it wouldn’t numb the pain receptors as he could attest to and the bait would be fully awake unlike his liberal use of knockout gases. A method which quickly fell out of favor after he’d captured a few Deathgrippers to analyze. Extracting their venom and incorporating it into bolts specifically designed for his crossbow worked. For a while. Time spent chasing his prey was drastically cut down and he soon grew bored with life once more. 

That was when the experiments began. 

Grimmel was by no means an alchemist but he knew enough about potions and chemistry that he made do. Several thousand mixtures of Deathgripper Venom with various additives over the years and more than twice as many test subjects finally saw some interesting results. The Psycho-Active Venoms created from mixing Deathgripper Venom with Dragonvine, Gamora Toxin, and the likes bore fruit in the form of a more powerful neurotoxin. One which played havoc on both the mind and the nervous system and depending on how it was prepared, the venom would have different effects. The most promising was a neurocognitive deficiency serum that left the victim in a state of muscle relaxation, drowsiness and disabled motor function. Best of all, it left the beast opened to suggestion. He couldn’t control the dragon—not as an Alpha could—but he could put them into a hypnotic state and that was something he could work with.

Disappointingly, the neurocognitive serum had a fatal flaw. The call of a messily alpha could counter the effects of the serum and the beasts came to their senses. Despite the vast knowledge he’d gain over his long life, of the trinkets and tomes he’d appropriated for his own means and added to his former master’s collection, all of it was useless. There was nothing that could break the bonds the fiery Creatures of Magic had with one another. 

Nothing on earth.

_Except._

There _was_.

Grimmel didn’t even know what to call it. It wasn’t like any poltergeist or specters he’d come across before. The wraith-like being was closer to the physical manifestation of a shadow. Whatever it was, the thing was weak when his ship had crossed the stranded creature in the middle of nowhere. He’d been in no mood to deal with what he assumed at the time was a specter. A fiery bolt should have been all he needed to dispense of the thing but it wasn’t as feeble as he thought. It still had fight left in it and though he had the upper hand for most of the fight, the hunter made a fatal mistake.

He let it close to one of his caged dragons.

Before his very eyes, Grimmel watched as the thing that was clearly _not_ an ordinary specter first merged with the beast’s shadow before soaking into the dragon. Scales dulled, losing what little gleam they had as eyes glazed over with a haunting yellow sheen. The beast, purposefully kept underfed and caged, rammed the door with strength it shouldn’t have possessed. The rage-filled roars drew the attention of the local shoal of Seashockers and the head of its shoal called out to its kin. The cry was enough to draw the cage beasts from their drugged-out state and back into consciousness. All of them, except for the possessed Deathgripper which took great pleasure in tearing the Seashockers apart once freed.

It was a thing of beauty in Grimmel’s mind, only outdone by him dissecting the possessed dragon while it was still alive.

Sadly, both it and the beast died on the table, but the venom he extracted? Oh, that was worth more than _any_ gold. Whatever the wraith was, even in death, it had the ability to suppress the Creatures of Magic’s bonds. The serum crafted from the vibrant purple venom did the impossible. It produced a powerful numbing effect that disrupted the beast’s cognitive receptors when injected directly into the cranium to the point they no longer could recognize the call of an _Alpha_ , let alone the head of an ordinary pack. A few more tests and trials along with a gem he’d pick up off of a dead sorcerer year prior and the fatal flaw of his serum was not only fixed, but improved. 

As long as the serum ran through the dragon’s veins, the beast would be _his_.

With his new hunting pack, the possibilities opened to him were endless. The things he created; the new weapons now available to him made life interesting again. His clients were discarded in favor of his new found interests. Some of them hadn’t been too happy with his brush off and sent a few of their men and browbeaten conscripted chattel to show their displeasure. Grimmel sent back his firm refusal. Their bodies, poisonous to the touch, did well to deter any further interference with his new hobby. 

The only problem came months later when he failed to synthesize more of the vibrant purple venom. Thus, a new hunt began. A search for more of the wraiths, one that was tedious as it was tiring. It wasn’t like he could go back to where he found the first one as it had been stranded in the middle of the sea, half-frozen inside a chunk of drifting ice. The only island remotely close to the location was inhabited and if there were such creatures on said island, he would have heard about them already.

Instead, he headed east, towards the unfamiliar territories where he hoped to find more of the unfamiliar creatures. Where there were more dragons to be hunted, different species to be had, but not a single wraith to be seen. Years spent; _wasted_. Not even the fame, glory, and gold he received made up for the diminishing supply of his special venom. His anger only spiked further when rumors from the far-off Barbaric Archipelago finally made their way to his ears. Rumors of Vikings co-existing with dragons slowly trickled in which was _absurd_. 

Grimmel still received contracts for his services, nowhere near the amount he once received after word got around about what he’d done dissuade his former clients but Vikings and dragons, co-existing? Not likely. Yet the whispers lingered, growing into stories of Vikings befriending dragons and even _riding_ them. The man who’d spoken such nonsense found himself dropped in the pit with his Deathgrippers and when he returned, there were only bones that remained. He didn’t have time to deal with ignorant fools who couldn’t tell the difference between fiction and reality.

Grimmel could say for certain the tall tales had nothing to do with his return to the Barbaric Archipelago. 

He could also say for certain he was not the least bit surprised to be summoned with the promise of a profitable arrangement and a bag of gold as an incentive not long after his arrival. Grimmel quickly disposed of the messenger—no one, and he meant _no one_ , summoned _him_. He didn’t take commands from _anyone_ , not anymore—but the offer was still intriguing enough to pay his caller a visit. At the very least, he could gather some intel on the happenings in the archipelago in his absence and not those rubbish tall tales that were spreading.

A few days after the scheduled meeting date, Grimmel took to the skies in his newly constructed vessel. A vessel like no others as it didn’t travel by sea but by _air_. His newest creation was a sight to behold with four wooden cranes—reinforced by meta—branched out from a gondola at the center. Various chains stretched across the vessel and down the cranes to hoists his Deathgrippers could latch onto to lift his ship. A ship that wouldn’t be complete without a harpoon launcher to take his prey down from above. 

He was quite pleased as his airship easily sailed over the vast armada of vessels surrounding the desolate rock located outside the Eastern Straights his potential clients had turned into a military base. He could faintly hear their shouts of surprise and fear from below as he bypassed their defenses with ease and reached the stronghold. Grimmel could have easily had one of his Deathgrippers burn a hole through the metal and wooden structure to fly inside the base, but he took much more pleasure in landing the airship outside and sauntering up to the gates. It always brought a smile to his face to see men three times his size decked out in the thickest of armor and armed to the teeth with various types of weapons kept at bay due to the mere presence of his hunting pack as they headed through the gates opening at his arrival.

Grimmel only stilled after taking in the disorganized mess of an operation before him. A sneer pulled at his lips as he took in the out of control beasts freely rampaging about. There were only a handful of dragons inside the various cages littering the area floor while the rest were fighting against the pathetic soldiers that couldn’t even handle a single muzzled Gronckle. A flick of his hand had his hunting pack winding through the chaos, their very presence rendering the beasts—and the majority of the humans—into a quivering mess. At least there seemed there were a few competent men in the cowering bunch as they quickly moved to restore some order by corralling the dragon. Shaking his head, the hunter made his way towards the tent at the center of the arena where he could hear the voices of actual warriors discussing recent raids on their boats. 

“My dear warlords. How go your plans to go conquer the world?” Grimmel greeted the men and woman surrounding a table laden with maps. His surprise at seeing the group of warlords all together masked as he pulled his hood down, allowing the breeze to riffle through short strains of hair. Habitually, he ran his hand through the locks in an attempt to tame the greying mess that use to resemble platinum but time had not been kind in that area.

“Grimmel, my old friend. Thank you for coming,” a loud boisterous laugh came from the largest of the warlords as he whipped around to greet Grimmel. Massive arms thick with muscles and littered with tattoos flexed—the only part of his body not covered by the aquamarine-colored armor and ratty furs—as he lumbered out of the tent. Dark brown eyes gleaming from under his helmet as they found the hunter and a savage grin crossed his features, causing his light auburn facial hair to twitch.

Next to the vast mountain of a man, stood a man even taller than his companion but much leaner with broad shoulders clad in a rustic red color and protected by Eastern style of bronze armor Grimmel had recently become more familiar with. His skin was closer to that of the terra cotta warrior statues than those found in the Barbaric Archipelago and he didn’t even need to look at the man’s face to know his hair would be as dark as his eyes, classic traits of those from the lands he’d just returned from.

Pale light blue eyes transferred down the line to the last warlord. Well not as tall as either of her companions, she was slender in a way only a woman could be and not the least bit less intimidating. In fact, she might have been more intimidating due to her immaculately polished silver chainmail worn over a grey dress coupled with a slender fur cape. It was impossible to make out the color of her hair with her helmet covering the upper half of her head and a large stripe of leather hanging down to her shoulders, offering additional protection. However, light brown eyebrows furrowed over unimpressed honey-colored eyes was a sure sign of what lay beneath her helmet.

“Ragnar the Rock, Chaghatai Khan, Griselda the Grievous, all together. Now isn’t that a surprise?” Grimmel drawled out, not caring in the least as one of his hunting dragons lunged for the vast mountain of a Viking who’d hastily reach for the sword at his waist, blocking the Deathgripper’s stinger and holding it there. “And no further along with your dragon army, I see.”

The Slavic woman, hand resting on the pommel of her sword, stepped aside to allow the hunter entrance to the tent. “You can thank the young Chief of Berk for that.”

To outside eyes, it looked like Grimmel was studying the map, but in actuality, he froze. The long-ignored whispers in the back of his mind roaring back to life, ringing just as clear in his mind as the first time he’d heard them. Though, this time, instead of _The Fury of the Night_ chorusing through his mind like a mantra, it was another part of the prophecy that echoed louder than the rest. 

A name which repeated endlessly as his mind strove to make sense of it all.

 _Berk_.

The isle from which his downfall hailed.

_The Druid of Berk._

Neither isle nor so-called Druid held fear over him for it was not _just_ Night Furies that he hunted down to extinction. Though hunting was too strong of a word. Unlike hunting the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death, Druids were _different_. Dragons were a challenge. Druids were slaughtered. He had not needed to put much effort in tracking them down for a Druid was not long for a life in the Barbaric Archipelago, their pacific ways made them easy prey to the Viking inhabitants. Various Vikings tribes did most of the work for him, ravaging the nomadic clans. Killing their men and taking their women, and if they were lucky, the children were left for dead.

He could count the number of times on two hands when he’d led the _Bloody Fist_ right into one of their camps. Sat down at their fires and ate their meals and when he was done, the _Bloody Fist_ stormed their camps with raised weapons while they raised none. Oh, there were a few times when the Druids fought, and how he enjoyed their little magical displays that might have scared off some of the more superstitious Vikings conscripted into the _Bloody Fist’s_ ranks but he was different. Grimmel knew none of them fought to kill. Their little spells were nothing more than tricks and traps meant to slow their attackers down while they escaped. He sometimes allowed the _Bloody Fist_ to fall for those. Not just to prolong the pursuit and wring more gold from his clients, but because it gave his prey a false sense of security before ripping it away from them.

Their blood always tasted the sweetest and he slept better on those nights.

Truly, Grimmel missed the time _Uther’s Bloody Fist_ still roamed the archipelago. Missed hearing their screams. Night Furies were a challenge, a fight, an exhilaration but Druids were _fun_. Beautifully covered in their own blood, and so responsive to the tiniest inflection of pain. Those that weren’t killed outright were brought back for him to _break_ and spill their fellow brethren’s hiding places. They never tended to last long; such a shame. 

Even now and again there were rumors of a mysterious nomadic tribe that would circulate, claiming they were people touched by the gods, but those were nothing but falsehoods. The last Druid he’d claimed the life of was years in the past. When the remnants of _Uther’s Bloody Fist_ who upheld the original doctrine fell but not without taking their enemy with them. Arendelle was completely wiped out, yet from the _Bloody Fist’s_ ashes rose the Bludvists line.

As for the Isle of Berk, he kept close tabs on that little rock in the past. They were nothing out of the ordinary, the typical savage Vikings that thought more with their muscles than with their brains. However, he would admit that they did have a rather unusually large infestation of the fiery Creatures of Magic that attacked their homes and stole their livestock. Such a desolate rock filled with brainless Vikings would have been the perfect place to extort large sums of gold from and Grimmel might have if the isle did not bear the name it had. 

Instead, he pulled a few strings and felt great satisfaction when Bludvist attacked the Gathering of Chieftains while Berk’s chief was in attendance. The satisfaction was not to last as the disgrace offshoots of the _Bloody Fist_ line failed and Stoick the Vast had survived. Grimmel was _furious_. His expectation of the isle’s fall to the beasts without a competent chief _dashed_. 

Grimmel need not worry, however, as word reached his ears of the sorry state of the so-called _Hope and Heir_ of the tribe. A boy of fourteen years who hadn’t managed to kill a single dragon. It was pathetic to the point that Grimmel could no longer be bothered to keep an eye on the isle, not when there was another line of more impressive Haddocks—those formerly of the isle’s shores, thus still connected to _Berk_ —that lead another tribe, the Northern Wanderer Tribe. A tribe he suspected might have a few members with less than a pure Viking heritage. If any tribe connected to Berk were to have a Druid, it would be them, and _they_ were on his hunting list. Not the whelp of a boy.

“Stoick's boy?” Grimmel snorted, allowing his tightened muscles to relax.

Ragnar side-eyed the Deathgripper watching his every move with venom dribbling from its fangs before replacing his sword in its scabbard and moved to stand beside the hunter as the man disinterestedly picked up one of the wooden boats on the map. “Yeah, him and his peace-loving Dragon Riders continue to raid our ships and steal our dragons.”

Grimmel allowed the Viking to take the boat from his hands despite the overwhelming urge to crush the damned thing. _Stoick’s heir_ was the source of the rumors? Rumors Ragar, however unwittingly, confirmed as the truth. It was no wonder the warlords had summoned him with a bounty of gold large enough to catch his interest. Still, such nonsense was beneath him and he wasn’t interested.

“That does sound like a nuisance. But I'm in the business of _killing_ dragons, not retrieving them,” the hunter turned on his heels and headed back the way he’d come. A snap of his fingers and his hunting pack followed after him, but not before the one eyeing Ragar snapped its teeth at the Viking that tried to waylay Grimmel’s departure with useless words. “That idiot boy has done all of the work for you, gathering the dragons in one place. Why bother me?”

Chaghatai seamlessly slid up on the hunter’s other side, matching him step for step. “Because the flock is protected by a Night Fury.”

Grimmel didn’t freeze up this time, his strides never faltering as he continued on his way with a clip rebuttal. “Not possible.”

“It seems one slipped through your fingers,” Griselda said from his other side, honey eyes staring forward rather than glancing over at him. “And we wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation as the _Night Fury Killer._ Just bring us Berk's alpha and the rest of their dragons will follow and both parties will be satisfied. We’ll have our dragons, you’ll have your reputation and on top of that, you’ll be paid handsomely for your services. What do you say?”

This time Grimmel did stop and turned to look the unflinching Slavic woman straight in the eyes. “I say you’re mistaken. I _killed_ all the Night Furies. There are _none_ left.”

A rough, deep chuckle had the hunter’s head turning to the side as pale light blue eyes pierced through the shadowed alcove and landed on a man that surpassed Ragar in size and height. His Deathgrippers backed away from him as the dark-skinned man staggered out of the darkness with the begrudging assistance from the slip of a girl at his side. A myriad of scars crisscrossed the man’s face and body spoke of his previous encounters with dragons and while he was missing an arm, it made him no less intimidating. Jaded eyes set in a harsh face surrounded by a mane of thick black haired tamed into submission with the liberal usage of dreadlocks openly glared at Grimmel with disdain.

“You would be wrong, Grisly.”

“Drago, I heard you were dead,” Grimmel quipped, a single grey brow rising in surprise.

“I almost was, no thanks to _that boy_ and _—_ ” the leader of the warlords snapped, teeth exposed as he leaned heavily on his bullhook to encroach into Grimmel’s space, “— _his Night Fury.”_

“You have seen this beast with your very eyes?” the hunter challenged.

“I rode _it_ ,” Drago shot back, shoving the girl assisting him to the side to get into the other man’s face. He was close enough to see pale light blue eyes harden into steel as Grimmel clenched his teeth in anger. “You failed in your quest, Grisly. _I’m_ giving you the opportunity to fix your mistake. Do we have a deal?”

Grimmel didn’t back down, even as the self-proclaimed Dragon Conqueror towered over him. “When all is said and done, this young chief will bring me the Night Fury. They don't have a leader, just a _boy_.”

A sharp, cruel smile spread across Drago’s lips, further revealing his teeth. “Good.”

“Though, I require additional payment,” the hunter stated before the man could turn away.

Drago sneered at the demand and as expected, Grimmel stared back blankly. “And how much more?”

“Nothing monetary. No, I want bait, _live bait_ , to trap the _Night Fury_ and I’m sure a man like you can deliver my favorite bait for such an important deal…” the hunter trailed off with a cocky smile on his face that Drago desperately wanted to wipe off his face but couldn’t.

“That can be arranged,” the Dragon Conqueror shot a look towards one of the more competent men Grimmel had seen. With a curt nod, the man—a commander by the looks of it—headed out of sight, no doubt to round up a few men for his mission. “Anything else, Grisly?”

“No.”

“Then we have a deal?”

“We do.”

“Not so fast, gentlemen,” an eloquent voice had the two men stiffening as a tall gaunt man stepped out of Drago’s shadow and by the way the warlords stiffened, hands falling to their weapons, he wasn’t one of theirs. “I do feel like I must intrude on your little deal and offer my own assistance, what do you say?”

Faster than Grimmel could see, Drago’s bullhook cut clean through the man who’d seemingly disappeared in a cloud of black dust.

“Now that wasn’t nice,” this time, it was his bolt that sent the same blacken powder everywhere as the man appeared behind him. “Really, is that any way to treat a potential ally?”

“And just what are you?” Drago demanded eyeing the man now standing in Chaghatai’s shadow.

“How rude of me not to introduce myself,” the gaunt man smiled sharply, and gave a mocking bow. “I’m Pitch Black and it would seem you, human, have killed one of my Dream Pirate crew and incorporated their essence into this little vial,” the man addressed Grimmel, holding up the dart filled with vibrant purple liquid still attached to the bolt that had harmlessly passed through the man in a black cloud of dust.

“Let me guess, you’re here for revenge,” the pale hunter said, casually reloading his crossbow.

“On the contraire,” the mocking tsking noise graded on Grimmel’s nerves as the tall gaunt man uncaringly glided around him without fear, “if you’d been listening instead of foolishly trying to assault my person, you would know I want to _join_ you.”

Drago didn’t lower his bullhook but did gesture to the rest of the warlords to hold back before they could run the man through from behind. “And what’s in it for you?”

Pitch Black smiled, eyes darkening. “ _Fear_.


	6. Crystal Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have worked 67 hours this week and done little else than existing with very little free time. I was very tempted to spent that free time on Discord, but instead, I was here, writing. Please enjoy the withered fruits of my existence and hopefully, I'll go back to living soon.

Chicago was full of life no matter the time of day or night. As an international hub of activity, the metropolis was never quiet. People were always coming and going via the international airport or even the numerous train and bus stations. Even the winds would occasionally drop off a visitor or two when it suited them. It _was_ the Windy City after all, and the winds did have a particular fondness for the city that recognized them for the powerful element they were. So, when asked, they were happy to provide those they liked a lift to the city.

The winds gladly dropped off their passenger when the sun was just breaking the city’s horizon and stuck around long enough to watch him drift delicately down like a snowflake before racing off to play between the skyscrapers. Over the course of the sun’s journey over the city, they had heard their friend’s voice drifting about but mostly ignored it. Not until the silvery voice called for them and one of their stray wisps brought the plea to them did they return to his side. It didn’t take them long to find the lanky white-haired spirit with eyes as blue as glacier ice overlooking the city clinging to the top of the highest building. His worn blue hoodie was pulled up tightly over his head which the winds knew was never a good sign when it wasn’t raining.

“I’m okay,” the child they’d claimed twice—once in the distant past as a teenager they’d never met who spoke to them with a familiarity he should not have and once more when his little lungs were filled with their element as he breathed his first breath of life—answered their whispered inquiry. “Mr. Vadderung apparently hired a few new Valkyries at Monco Securities as security guards who can _see_ me and aren’t letting me in to see the Old Man. I tried to get them to see reason or, at least, contact Hugin and Munin since they’d vouch for me but they hate me on principle. I’m _apparently_ —” the word laced with sarcasm was all but hissed out in annoyance “—committing some kind of identity theft.”

The winds swirled around.

The white-haired spirit snorted. “ _Jökul Frosti_.”

The winds stilled before bursting out into a flurry of motion.

“I know. It’s _so_ _stupid_ it’s not even funny, they’re accusing me of stealing the identity of the character I went and based off of myself,” Jack Frost bemoaned, letting his head drop, his chin coming to rest on his chest. A defeated sigh escaped his lips as he looked down at the worn book in his lap, idly tracing the Hairy Hooligan crest embossed on the leather cover. “Another dead-end.”

Another dead-end in a long list of dead-ends. Jack had enough problems to deal with, from the sporadic fading in and out of existence to the Big Four’s new overbearing behavior. Plus, there were the countless Big Root’s scholars from Santoff Claussen wanting to study him as a mystery of magic. Jack knew part of the reason was to help find a cure but that didn’t keep him from sneaking away from the overly pushy and probing scholars who ignored anything he had to say on the matter of magic. Not when the _larger_ part of their reasoning for even helping him was out of curiosity to figure out the cause of the flickering rather than wanting to save him. 

It didn’t help that Atlantis’ philosophy of magic taught to all the citizens of Santoff Classen was vastly different than the Druid teachings he was familiar with. Something he found utterly baffling since they _believed_ in magic in an era where magic was dismissed away and pushed to the realms of fantasy. An offhanded comment by Easter Bunny, of all people, clued him in on the reason why that was. Atlantis’ philosophy never followed any of Earth’s teachings as the lost city was a holdover off-world garrison the Brotherhood of the Pooka established and then abandoned after Kozmotis Pitchiner imprisoned the Fearlings. Their philosophies were the same philosophies of the Golden Ages taught to the first humans brought to Atlantis that were then passed down to the people of Santoff Claussen long after the Brotherhoods’ departure.

Jack was vindictive enough—and he blamed the Hairy Hooligan Tribe for learning such a bad behavior—to be glad it wasn’t the scholars that dismissed his ‘primitive’ ideas without hearing a word of it who finally came up with a remedy to his situation but Nightlight. The boy of light had left with him a pendant in the shape of the Guardian of Childhood’s iconic G. The same pendant currently dangling from the cord around his neck, and since putting it on, Jack hadn’t flickered without reason. With him no longer endanger of fading from existence, Jack saw no reason to stay at the North Pole and left.

He was glad he did too, otherwise, he would not have learned the life he was beginning to doubt was nothing more than a dream was, in fact, _real._ Moreover, somewhere out there, there was a link to that lost life. The Bennett siblings’ run-in with who he could only assume—given their description of the woman—was the Dís of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe was proof enough: Valka Haddock was alive. If he had been an hour sooner, he could have met her himself and gotten some answers. As it was, she’d disappeared without a trace and if it was anyone else, Jack might have thought she was avoiding him on purpose. Given the fact she thought him dead, that couldn’t be true. 

With her gone, he had thought all was lost until a stray thought struck him. Valka was not the only person he knew from his time spent among the Hairy Hooligan Tribe in his time on Berk. There was one other he knew without a doubt lived on and had immediately set out to find the god. But when the tantalizing prospect of finding the answers he so desperately needed from Mr. Vadderung was cruelly torn away, he could not help himself from falling further into depression. 

“Winds, I’m tired. So very tired,” the eternal teen whispered to his constant companion. A single tear rolling down his cheek. “I just want to go home, but I don’t even know where that is anymore.”

The winds, never still, circled around Jack. Gradually they grew stronger, cradling the spirit and whisking him away from the city below. They traveled at a leisured pace for some time before picking up speed as they crossed over the ocean. The eternal teenager in their grasp just tightened his hold on the book in his arms but didn’t move otherwise as more tears succumb to gravity.

After what felt like hours, but could have been minutes or days for all Jack knew, the winds deposited him on the outskirts of a forest. A forest overflowing with magic that even a person without an ounce of magic would have been able to feel it. Without knowing what it was they were sensing they’d probably mistaken the place as being haunted or something similar and avoid the area. The white-haired boy, on the other hand, could taste the magic on the air, pure and untainted with an underlying zing. 

It was no wonder the winds placed him where they had. There was no way they could take him any further; this place was surrounded by a very powerful magical enchantment. He knew that if he hadn’t been dropped there, he would have never found the place on his own. Magic might not have been as strong or prevalent in the current era but that didn’t mean it was gone. Far from it in fact. There were various enchantments, runes, spells, and sigils from the past scattered sporadically throughout the world that held firm. 

The newer ones weren’t all that strong and Jack could usually cross over the threshold of such magics with ease. Case in point: Santoff Claussen. Then there were the ancient thresholds that weren’t worth the massive undertaking it would take to even attempt to bypass them. He’d come across a few he couldn’t cross but knew of their location. Those were usually Fae enchanted areas or Mother Nature’s sanctuary. But the strongest of the shielded locations by far were those from centuries ago. They withstood the test of time and kept their secrets a secret.

They were the ones Jack thought he might have crossed yet the magics kept him from remembering, leaving him disoriented and confused with a gap in his memories. Then there were the ones that he would never realize he’d come across, the magics so flawless. The former, less sophisticated veils, shown almost like a beacon for anyone sensitive to magic to find, but the latter were completely hidden even if one were to stand mere inches away from the veil’s threshold. Still, there were a handful of ordinary people with not an ounce of magic who’d successfully wondered into lesser veiled locations. It was the reason why so many claimed to have found the Fountain of Youth or stumbled across the ruins of Camelot. 

Jack had a feeling the winds might have just betrayed a secret to him they shouldn’t have. However, a gust from behind nudged him forward, causing the eternal teenager to stumble. The moment his foot crossed the tree line, a gentle tug gripped his spirit. A sweet melody called to him and he could do nothing more than obey. He followed the pull deeper into the forest, allowing it to lead him through the winding overgrown shrubbery and roots. Over sharp jagged rocks, down into a deep valley, through large rock faces with a fissure barely big enough for him to squeeze between, and passed two gigantic carved statues of knights which were mostly covered with ferns, the features worn away by time.

He lost track of time once again; in fact, it was almost like time didn’t matter in this forest. It was less like a flowing river and more like a vast open sea, waves moving in all directions at once and going nowhere at all. If he didn’t know any better—which he did—Jack might have thought he’d accidentally crossed over into the Nevernever where time moved differently. He knew he hadn’t crossed over, not with the winds reassuring him he still walked the Earth. Still, it seemed like an eternity and yet, like no time at all before the disoriented Guardian came upon a quaint small clearing.

The sound of water trickling into a natural basin of water was like a balm to his haggard heart. Light danced across the clearing from high above and the trees were bursting with life. All of which couldn’t compare with the cave taking up the whole other side of the clearing for whatever was calling to him, pulling him in, was coming from within.

“I know this place.”

“Do you?”

Jack whirled around to find an elderly man, the white of his hair gleaming in the light. His beard was short with a clean-cut which was odd considering he was wearing an old ragged piece of material sewn horribly into what could have been a cloak at one time. The rest of his outfit was worse off than the cloak but eternal blue eyes saw none of that. Instead, they were transfixed at the sight of the small triskele embroidered with painstaking accuracy partly hidden in the folds of the man’s cloak.

Taking a gulp, Jack nodded his head. “This is the Crystal Cave, the birthplace of magic.”

“It is,” the man inclined his head.

“But I thought the location was hidden away, seal so no one outside the Head of the Taliesin Clan could find it.”

“Correct again,” the old man nodded, more of an invitation to continue than out of an agreement.

“But I’m here. I shouldn’t be here; I don’t know how I got here. The location of the Valley of the Fallen Kings was lost.”

“Ah, but that is where you’re wrong, young warlock.”

Jack stiffened at that particular term, already knowing the other man wasn’t as he seemed due to his sudden appearance, but the use of that word put him on a whole different scale as previously believed. “Not you too.”

“Beg your pardon?” the elderly man lifted a single eyebrow.

“You called me young warlock, just like Snowy did. Please say you’re not another dragon in human form…,” Jack trails off with a thoughtful look, his hand coming up to tap a finger against a cheek. “Actually, scratch that, please tell me you’re another dragon in human form. Maybe then you can help me figure out what happened.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am no dragon. Merely the Druid Taliesin.”

Jack choked on air. “Taliesin _._ _The_ Taliesin? You’re— _you’re_ Taliesin, _The First Warlock_?”

“Indeed.”

“There’s nothing _mere_ about you.”

“And neither is there you. We have much to discuss. Come, take a seat for I have much to tell you,” Taliesin smiled gently at his descendant, leading him over to a little pool of water situated just outside the mouth of the cave. The older of the two spirits delicately sat down next to the water’s edge while Jack opted to perch precariously on a nearby rock. “As you said, the Crystal Cave has been enchanted so none can find it unless told the location by the head of our clan. 

“But it is also true, the cave calls to a particular few. Those who have been blessed by magic; it matters not that the location has been hidden away, sealed to outsiders until such a time magic is ready to flourish in the world once more,” Taliesin ended by inclining his head toward the eternal teenager and in that one gesture, Jack understood far more than what was said.

He was born a warlock; born with magic; magic’s blessing was in his blood. Jack’s life was always destined to be far from mundane, just not in the way Manny made him. He would never regret becoming a Guardian of Childhood, the Guardian of Fun, but magic had laid claim to him way before the celestial ever took notice of his existence. Now, it was calling on him and he’d answered that call by following the melody. 

“Why do I have the feeling you knew I would come?” the eternal teen asked, resigned to his fate. Apparently, be it Jack Frost or Jackson Overland, whatever name he chose to go by, he just couldn’t catch a break.

“We have more in common than blood, young warlock,” and that appeared to be the only response Jack would receive for an answer.

The younger Taliesin Clan member decided it was best to move on rather than dwell on the cryptic answer. “Alright, let’s have it, why was I summoned here?”

“I will show you,” Taliesin stood up and headed for the cave.

Jack was quick to scramble after him. He might be apathetic to this whole situation, but that didn’t mean he was going to miss out on seeing _the_ Crystal Cave. Even from this distance, blue eyes widened in wonder and awe at the sight of various clear crystals—similar to the one which used to hang from his staff—peeking out from just within the cave.

Only they were bigger.

A lot bigger. 

And more powerful.

He could feel the magic radiating off of them and in the crystal just at the entrance of the cave, he saw shimmering images flying by so fast he couldn’t make sense of them all. As if reading his mind, the crystal refocused and he could only watch in morbid fascination at the various scenes flickering within. The first image was of Jack Frost fading as he fell with Toothiana desperately attempting to reach him. The next was an image of Jackson Overland preventing Flee from plunging in the water and taking her place. Then there was his body sinking into the dark depths. A fourth portrayed a glowing silvery tendril of magic stretching down from the moon, snaking around his drifting body.

Manny’s strength hadn’t been enough to pull the dying teenager to the surface, but it was more than ample to salvage Jack’s spirit by ripping it from his body; leaving his mortal shell to continue to sink deeper into the black abyss. He was surprised to bear witness to golden vines of magic rising from the depth to meet Jackson Overland’s failing body, twirling around and engulfing him within a loving embrace until all that remained was a cocoon of shimmering gold. The cocoon then followed the golden vines back into the rocky earth where it and his body seemingly disappeared. 

Another image from the crystal revealed the cocoon of golden light sprouting in what he now knew to be Valka’s chambers in the Dragon Sanctuary. Unlike the cavern in the past, this version was destroyed and decayed, signifying this was the same timeframe as he disappeared from. As the cocoon unraveled like a blooming flower, the ‘petals’ fused with the ground creating a familiar array. The golden glowing array underneath pulsed in tandem with his heartbeat—a telltale sign his body had been placed into stasis—while a twine of glimmering gold and silver stretched outwards, a frail connection between spirit and body.

Jack watched the battle with the Nightmare Men through that crystal. Watching as he tried to rescue Toothiana only to fall victim to the monsters’ spears. Only this time, as his spirit form began to fade, he saw the metallic twine reeling him back into his body. It was odd watching as his spirit’s wounds transferred over on to his mortal form, skin ripping open as if by an invisible force but not as odd as watching the golden light give one last pulse before fading to the steady red glowing he’d awoken to. 

The images were familiar, yet different. He never remembered arriving in the Barbaric Archipelago, inside the Dragon Sanctuary where Snowy found him. Never knew the alpha crouched over his body, eyes glowing, before arranging for Grump to carry him off to the nearest human settlement for help only for a storm to blow the dragon off course. Instead, they’d ended up on Berk where Finn had found him. Yet, the crystal showed him what had transpired. From that point on there were just flashes of his Viking life, meeting Toothless and Hiccup, becoming a Dragon Rider, finding Outpost Island and the adventures that ensued, all the way to him throwing himself in front of the blast meant for Hiccup.

The last image was of the battlefield with the Nightmare Men, just as his spirit faded and the resulting actions the Guardians took to save him. Jack Frost didn’t know if he was grateful for the knowledge now seared in his mind—he never wanted to forget his mortal life again—or terrified of the power the crystal held. He knew that the crystal—just like all the crystals from the Crystal Cave—was special because within each crystal, they held great power but even greater knowledge of what was, what has been, and what was yet to come.

There could never be any doubt, everything he’d seen was true.

With his focus entirely on the images of the past and the excitement of actually getting to see inside of the Crystal Cave clouding his perception, Jack failed to take notice of the slight discomfort. It was sort of similar to how he felt after he tried to use a simple light spell after returning to the future. The flickering in and out of existence intensified, leaving him weak and disoriented to the point he’d collapsed on the ground where North found him. Any further attempts resulted in the same reaction, only stronger depending on the spell.

That was nothing compared to entering the Crystal Cave. It felt as if he was being yanked in too many different directions, his essence being pulled apart and sucked through a straw. The G-shaped relic flared to life, quite literally, burning white-hot against his chest. The pain was immense and mind-numbing until Taliesin wove together some kind of intricate, obscure, overly complex spell at speeds unheard of. In the next instant, Jack was not only pulled back together but unceremoniously thrown from the mouth of the cave. 

“Owe,” the blue-eye teen uttered out in what was a serious understatement. The disappointment of not being able to go into the Crystal Cave the only thing more painful than the experience. Jack was keen to find out if the stories of crystals as big as any mountain that were passed down to his mother were true or not and that didn’t look like it would be happening anytime soon. 

The Guardian of Fun could hear Taliesin asking him how he was but Jack was too preoccupied with cooling the skin around the pendant with a burst of winter’s ice to soothe the area and chill the relic. Despite not being able to use any spells without flickering, his gift of winter didn’t seem to apply. However, the touch of winter inside of him was less like a touch and more of a storm and controlling it was as easy as snapping his fingers. 

“Are you alright, young warlock?” Taliesin inquired, assisting him in sitting up.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s just not do that again,” a slightly translucent hand ran through white locks, gaining solidity.

“I must confess, I’ve never seen such a reaction from the cave,” the elder spirit’s voice was grave as aged eyes scanned the younger for any harm. His eyes landed on the pendant thrown free of the confines of the blue hoodie after Jack’s tumble. The relic, now encased in an inch of ice which was quickly fizzing away as the glow subsided, seemingly quivered under Taliesin’s stare. “I believe the enchantment on the cave and the enchantment from that there pendant do not react well with one another.”

“Understatement.”

“You will have to take it off if you wish to enter the cave,” Taliesin pointed out and it took the last dregs of restraint the spirit had to spare to not roll glacier blue eyes.

“That—that won’t be happening, I can’t really take it off or…” Jack trailed off and held out his left arm. A ball of flickering light appeared in the outstretched palm and at the same time, his whole arm began to flicker like the light. The G-shape relic flared, snuffing out the ball of light and the boy’s arm snapped back into place. “Yeah, or that happens…to all of me…”

“Hmm, that is troubling,” grey brows furrowed together. “This changes everything. Wait here.”

Taliesin left Jack there to regain his bearings while the elder spirit headed into the cave alone. He was gone for some time, but when he came out, he was carrying with him a crystal the size of his fist. The white-haired teenager flinched at the sight of the crystal, feeling the now-familiar pull even from this distance. However, with a wave of his hand, a shimmering circle appeared around the stone and the feeling dissipated.

“Tell me, what do you see?” Taliesin held the crystal out for blue eyes to inspect.

The images— _visions_ —in this crystal were nothing like the glimpses of his past. They were vague and unclear, changing drastically from one second to the next. One instant showed a perfect sunny day in Burgess and in the next second, a war-torn Chicago with buildings on fire and skyscrapers collapsing in on themselves. Both were of the same day. It was clear there was a fluctuation. The future was always changing after all but there was a reason for Taliesin’s concern. The images Jack glimpsed became more and more apocalyptic in nature as time went on with fewer and fewer bright days in between, the possible futures desolated and the lands dying. Until finally, there was only a wilted Earth with an equally desolate moon and nothing else.

“What can I do?” 

Taliesin gave a grim smile. “That, young warlock, I am unsure of myself. I have only seen little more beyond this point than you have. Our meeting was always meant to take place and yet, it has come hundreds of years too late. Something has shifted and the future is at a crossroad, constantly fluctuating, branching off into various directions before the possible futures collapse in on themselves, giving way to vastly different futures all together. I do not know why and despite my many attempts to figure out the cause for such turmoil, I cannot. What I have been able to determine is that this moment, the time spent here, our meeting has become the lynchpin to decide which road the future will take when you leave here.”

“So—” the white-haired boy drew out. Eyes darting about, inspecting one tree to the next for any kind of supernatural warnings or a good omen or something that would indicate how to prevent the darker futures he’d glimpsed from coming to pass. There weren’t any because, somehow, his life had just become even more complicated than it already was and he couldn’t catch a break. “What do we do now?”

“We wait and let the future come to us.”

* * *

It was a moonless night.

Darkness dominated the sky.

Even the bright stars could not penetrate the hazy layer of clouds.

It was nearly impossible to see more than a foot away. Even the usual lively winds were subdued. Eerily so, barely more than a fragile waft that could do no more to create a flurry let alone knock any snow down from the treetops. No person in their right mind would be outside in the freezing cold weather. Yet, in an ancient tree, between the bare branches and hidden in the crevasses, a glint of white—that had nothing to do with the snow—was nestled in the tree’s loving embrace.

A silhouette, even darker than the night, effortlessly traversed the rocky terrain without a sound. Creeping up to the base of the ancient tree, the figure slunk up the trunk in an inhuman fashion and clung upside down on the occupied branch. An unearthly hand reached down but the shifting weight was more than enough to disturb the snow which, unfortunately, fell on top of the slumbering inhabitant’s head. A single blue eye opened followed by its twin at the sight of the shadowy figure. The resulting cry was swallowed by darkness and when the clouds finally parted, the starry night sky found nothing surrounding the ancient tree but snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too Tired...Please Review for what is left of my sanity.  
> ~SilverlySilence


	7. Tail of the Moonless Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bee!: Hearing that you enjoy my writing style so much makes me smile and is encouraging. Thank you.
> 
> Hi BlueHotDog and welcome to the party. I'm glad you had a good binge reading session and I've had fun reading your reviews. Thanks for stopping by and I hope to hear from you again.
> 
> Sleepless Squad/Discord Realm: Review Seeing Theory Before Reading. (I will try to stop on by the server sometime this week but I make no promises. Sorry for my vanishing. You'll understand why if you read the notes at the end. And if I had more time, there are things I would like to say here about Madcap and Red's reviews [because they were awesome and brought some joy to my life] but I don't, not now. Again, sorry.)
> 
> For those interested, please write down what you thought the ending part of the last chapter was about and then read this. After reading, please revisit your prediction and tell me how close or how far off you were.

Jack Frost let his icy blue eyes drift up over the canopy of trees and into the night’s sky. The stars were beautiful, thousands—if not millions—dotting the darkness with a myriad of colors, so vivid the spirit could almost convince himself he was back in the past with the lack of air pollution obscuring the galaxies beyond. However, the distant stars’ light was not enough to illuminate the night and without the moon’s rays, no mortal would venture out into the darkness. Even he would be hard press to be out on foot on such a night, preferring the winds whisking him off elsewhere to a place that wasn’t akin to a Nightmare’s wet dream of a hunting ground. As it was, he was still inside the boundaries of the enchantment concealing the Crystal Cave from the world and its strong, overpowering magic was enough of a comfort that he was willing to risk it.

A comfort he really wished to indulge in just a little longer. His conversation with Taliesin was interesting and disappointing at the same time. Interesting, for the sheer plethora of knowledge the elder spirit possessed. They had talked for hours about the different aspects of magic to pass the time, from runes and arrays, to rituals and spells, to potions and creatures. It was all touched upon and debated to some extent to soothe the wound on the young spirit’s soul. For, while Taliesin had a plethora of knowledge, he knew little the dragons’ homeland and even less about Berk and the Barbaric Archipelago.

“Hiccup…I miss you, I miss you all,” Jack spoke, hoping the words would reach him wherever he may rest: be it in the Hall of Valhalla in Asgard or the Hall of Sessrúmnir in the fields of Fólkvangr. Both Odin and Freya would be pleased to have him join them in their respective halls and wherever Hiccup was, the rest of the Dragon Riders were sure to follow. 

Jack wasn’t sure where he would end up when his time came. He was a Druid down to his soul and by that logic he should follow in his clan’s footsteps to the gates of Avalon. Yet, his heart was that of a dragon, bound to the lands of Vikings, and it yearned to be with the tribe that openly welcomed a foreigner into their midst. If he had a choice, even he didn’t know where he would choose. At least he still had some time yet, because it was a matter of _when;_ not _if_.

The Guardian of Fun could feel it, deep within his being. Snowy was right, when he agreed to house the draconic magics to bestow upon Hiccup the blessing of a Dragonlord, he doomed his existence. Manny’s protection was slowly eroding, despite Ombric’s spell to bring him back, the lingering trace amounts of draconic magic intertwined with his spirit was eating at the celestial energy. He just hoped the last wizard of Atlantis’s ritual combined with the spell would allow him to pass over instead of ceasing to exist.

Jack shivered, less at the thought and more due to the sensation similar to that of being shocked by static electricity and walking through a thick spider web at the same time. Icy glacial orbs blinked a few times as he regained his bearings and looked around. Obviously, he crossed through the barrier, and the comforting heavy magic radiating from the Crystal Cave was gone—shielded from the outside world—leaving the eternal teen cold and lost.

He exited from a different place from where he entered and was only partly surprised to find himself at a literal crossroads. There wasn’t anything overly significant about the space. A few ruins of what could have been a small shrine to the right of the first path. He could faintly see a pond, which was—in Jack’s humble opinion—just a puddle, a little ways down the second road and the last had nothing remarkable about it. If the crystal Taliesin shown him was to believed—and he, as a Druid, fully did believe—then the future would be determined by which road he took.

“Winds? A little help,” Jack called out, feeling the soft breeze pick up and swirl around him questioningly. “Any idea which way doesn’t lead to an apocalypse?”

The winds settled heavily around him, a soft wisp whistling through the tree canopies. It swirled around him again before splitting up and rushing down all three paths. The spirit laughed as the wisps that stayed behind ruffled through white locks, tickling him and playfully tugging at his clothes to lighten the mood. It worked too, since—as his oldest companion—they knew just what to do to cheer him up.

A burst of light—a whitish-violet color—had blue eyes snapping to the side. A moment later, the winds came rushing back to him carrying the sounds of angry roars and growls of warning. Jack didn’t even think, taking a few long strides and hurling himself into the air. The winds caught him and carried him towards the general direction of where the burst originated, but he was hard-pressed to find the source. The lack of light hindered his sight and with the magical barrier humming strongly close by, he had difficulty sensing anything else.

He was flying blind.

Another roar, this time closer and filled with rage pierced the air sending Jack’s heart racing. He knew that roar. The timber wasn’t quite right, but the general sound was distinct and hard to mistake for anything else.

Twisting his body, the winds obliged his unvoiced request and released the spirit. He fell only a few meters, brushing through the top of the canopy and grabbing hold of a thick branch to swing himself onto another nearby limb. A scuffle off to the right had Jack moving rapidly in that direction, jumping from tree to tree, swinging from limb to limb until he finally came to a stop.

Crouching down low on the thick branch, blue eyes narrowed trying to penetrate the darkness. The winds in formed him in a whisper this was where they had dropped him off upon his arrival but he wouldn’t have guessed it. The natural beauty was destroyed. There were smoldering splotches of ember giving off a faint glow, the foliage was trampled upon, plants uprooted, all of which was surrounding a large hole in the ground. 

The thing was similar to one of Bunny’s rabbit holes he used to travel magically around the world, but not. For one, it was still opened whereas the Guardian of Hope’s holes closed as soon as he was through, leaving behind a small pretty flower. There was also the fact that the Pooka’s portals felt otherworldly in nature while this one felt, for lack of a better word, earthy with a hint of faeish undertones.

He would have liked to get a closer look, to study the portal in hopes of figuring out how it functioned. As Jackson Overland, he never quite managed any type of transport spell and had to rely on mortal means when necessary. It would be nice to have a type of instantaneous transportation like the other Guardians used. Yet, the spirit’s attention was pulled to the group of humans below rather than on the fluctuating opening.

A trio of men with large, hulking bodies and bulging muscles were stationed right underneath the tree the eternal teenager was currently inhabiting. The simple tunics and worn trousers they wore was nothing to remember, though the weapons they wielded in their hands not occupied with blazing torches were memorable. Moreover, the helmets they wore with spikes down the center resembled something Jackson seen before on _Dragon Hunters._ The one with the largest set of horns on his helmet was obviously the leader, going by the way he wasn’t holding a torch and the cut of his cloth was of finer quality.

Across from the trio was another man in a vastly different outfit consisting of a tan-furred bearskin cloak, the hood—which was the head of the bear—obscured much of his face save for the blue war paint on his cheeks. Markings that Jack had the nagging feeling he should recognize but couldn’t place. The bearskin man also had a strong build but was rather stout than his companion. The green tunic and leather gloves, pants, and studded boots helped to camouflage the man in the forest setting, allowing him to use the crossbow held at the ready in his hands to catch any prey unaware.

The last, a short, lithe girl held the Guardian’s attention. Her most notable feature was a draw between her blue crested black hair trimmed in a mohawk style and her missing left arm which was replaced by a complex, multi-functional prosthesis that held a spear. She too had blue war paint around her eyes and on her right arm partially covered by an embroidered grey shawl draping across her shoulders. The tunic and trousers she wore were of better quality than her companions and the metal pauldrons on her shoulders were not typical of the time.

“Any sign of our prey?” the raven-haired girl snapped in a language that Jackson was all too familiar with, her scowl deepening when neither of the men answered her. “Harek! Nygren! Answer!”

“No, but we wouldn’t be in this mess if you had done your job right in the first place,” the one Jack picked out as the leader of the first group barked back.

“What was that Harek?” the girl turned to face the man right under Jack’s tree and he couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped his lips at the sight of the distinctive swirls of a triskele embossed on the round pin holding her shawl in place. Brown eyes shoot up and for a moment the spirit thought she could see him. The girl was older than Jamie, maybe a few years passed childhood, but that didn’t necessarily exclude her from seeing him. Yet, the Guardian of Fun did not feel the familiar pleasant prickling sensation he felt when in the presence of one of his few believers.

Still, brown eyes lingered on the tree he crouched in, darting from one tree branch to the next.

“Eir,” the name of the Goddess of Healing and Medicine was spat out in disdain by Harek and was most certainly not uttered to invoke the Norse deity’s blessing. “You had one job. One. Open a portal to Blood Briar and you managed to screw that up.”

“ _Me?_ ” the girl bristled, standing to her full height, an unimpressive one at that. “I did _no_ such thing! You were the one to allow it to run freely through the portal!”

“Which wouldn’t have been a problem if the portal had gone where it was supposed to! The thing would have been trapped!”

“Uh, Eir?” the bearskin man—Jack assumed he must be Nygren as the other two men hadn’t spoken—hesitantly called out but his voice was drowned out by the dark-haired teenager’s roar.

“It would have destroyed my lab! Do you know what would happen if that thing ran rampant through my lab? Alchemy is a science, not witchcraft! All that delicate equipment and one false move and the whole place would blow up. Years of research; _lost_.”

“Commander, I—"

Harek swung around, gesturing to the area. “At least the thing would be trapped and our mission would be complete! If your failure—!”

“ _Failure?_ I, not only, managed to open a single gateway into the Nevernever—something that was thought impossible since the Mist’s appearance—but a corresponding gate on the other side simultaneously _and_ then some. That wasn’t just two portals we stepped through at once, but over forty just to get us here without having to step foot in the Nevernever and run into those foul Sidhe. Do you know how much trouble that was? Be glad we didn’t end up in Niflheim!”

“Obviously, it was _too_ much trouble for you! Does this look like Blood Briar to you? Do you even know where we are? Can your precious alchemy tell us that at least? Maybe we should have gotten ahold of a sorcerer—"

“ _Witchcraft_ —!” Eir hissed his utter disdain but she got no further as Nygren finally had enough and shot a bolt from his crossbow in between the bickering duo. The arrow pierced deeply into a tree well outside the torch’s range of light, but the reverberating thud drew all eyes towards the bearskin warrior.

“What is it, Nygren?” Harek growled, taking a threatening step towards his comrade.

“I found the beast’s trail, Commander Harek. It would appear one of us wounded it,” Nygren kneeled down, swiping two fingers across the dirt and held them up for the others to see the red smug in the flickering firelight.

“Very good, maybe we won’t return as failures,” the man’s grin turned feral, eyeing the darkness with renewed interest. He turned to his subordinates and barked at them to stay put in case the beast doubled back, trying to return through the portal.

“We would be better off not returning at all if that were the case,” Eir huffed, her prosthetic arm making a grinding noise as she moved a broken branch out of the way with the end of her staff. A rustling of leaves overhead had the girl whipping around, weapon at the ready but brown eyes could see no more than the hazy shadows cast by the torch. There was nothing there, just as there wasn’t before, but she still had the feeling like they were being watched.

And watch them Jack Frost did. 

He trailed after the trio, keeping to the treetops and allowing the winds to carry him when the canopy became too sparse. He didn’t know who these people were and they clearly didn’t believe in him, but they had traveled through the Ways of the Nevernever—the homelands of the Sidhe—to a place close to the barrier of the Crystal Cave while hunting some beast. Most likely some type of Creature of Magic if the Druid was to take a wild guess. If that wasn’t reason enough to be wary of them, the sheer venom the girl—Eir—showed towards magic was. She readily admitted to being an alchemist but despised magic. Two things which were not mutually exclusive and yet, she acted as if they were.

Add in the fact that Jack had too many alarms going off in his head that these people— _hunters_ —were off and the Guardian of Fun was on guard. If there was one thing living in the Barbaric Archipelago taught him, it was always to rely on his instincts. They were rarely wrong.

He continued to follow them, listening to the discord between the group until the breeze around him stifled for a moment before gently tugging on his hoodie. They had found something. From the sounds of angered growls the winds brought with them, it was most likely whatever magical creature the trio was hunting.

White brows furrowed together as Jack considered what to do. If—and that was a big if—this was one of the rare occasions his instincts were off and the trio were a magical enforcement group equivalent to that of a dog catcher chasing down a feral creature, he wouldn’t want to get in the way. That would be like them getting in the way of the Guardians fight against Pitch since they didn’t have the full picture. However, if they were said corrupt individuals than it was his duty as a Druid to keep whatever Creature of Magic they were after out of harm’s reach.

The only way to determine which possible outcome was the correct one—and, hopefully, preventing an apocalypse—was for him to get to this beast first.

Jack knew just how to do it too. Being invisible but not completely intangible had its perks. The eternal teen easily created a false trail for the trio to follow—being sure to lead them even further from the perimeter of the Crystal Cave’s barrier while he was at it—right under their noses. Eir’s eyes did occasionally linger in his general area, but if the frown on her face was anything to go by, she never saw him.

Once he was sure the unknown trio was headed off in the wrong direction, Jack followed the winds’ directions. He probably should have allowed them to carry him, but a part of him—the part which was still firmly in the mindset of a mortal Jackson Overland who didn’t have the luxury of being carried away by his companion—didn’t even think to ask in that moment. It might have been better off that he did. He ended up making a rookie mistake and stepped on a brittle branch that cracked loudly under his weight.

A growl pierced the area.

Jack stood stalk still.

He had managed to convince himself he was hearing things earlier. That there was no way the roar he heard came from the creature which immediately popped into his mind. He had just been homesick but there was no mistaking that growl.

Blue eyes strained to pierce the veil of darkness.

A blue glow illuminated the area.

A familiar blue glow illuminated the area.

Jack blinked once.

He blinked twice.

The visage before him didn’t waver.

He blinked a third time when the glow got brighter.

“A Night Fury…,” the eternal teenager whispered in awe which slowly bled away as the sound of building plasma grew louder, “…that can see me. Shit.”

Jack dove out of the way just in time to miss the blue ball of plasma as it sped by, the color changing to a violet hue due to the rapid loss of heat right before it exploded in a burst of light. Thankfully, the Druid had spent enough time around Toothless to have the mind to take cover after he successfully dodged the initial attack and wasn’t injured by any of the debris which impaled the tree he’d darted behind.

A few seconds ticked by and when nothing else happened, the spirit stuck his head out. The dragon— _the Night Fury_ —was still there. The darkness made it difficult to see but the creature was still there, glaring at him. He looked to be a little worse for wear, chest heaving with heavy pants, a clear sign of exhaustion as blue—not acid green—eyes stared straight at him. Not that it stopped the dragon from letting out another low growl of warning.

Jack wasn’t even phased. He was a Dragon Rider. He knew how to deal with dragons, especially temperamental Night Furies. Okay, so he knew how to deal with _a_ temperamental Night Fury; hopefully, the species as a whole were very similar to Toothless or he was doomed.

“It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you,” the Druid spoke in his gentlest of voices, drawing on a tidbit of his magic—ignoring the flare of pain coming from the general vicinity of the relic—to create a soothing silvery melody with his words.

Ear-plates briefly flickered upwards before being pressed back down on to the dragon’s skull and there was something dissimilar about that gesture that was different from Toothless’s mannerisms. Jack just didn’t have the time to figure out what that was, not when the dragon started to growl again.

“Really, your mere existence is a miracle in my eyes.” The growling stopped, but Jack knew the creature’s teeth were still on display even though he was not able to see the pearly whites in this darkness. Taking that as an incentive, he slowly crept out from behind the safety of the tree, holding his hands out in front of him, palms up to show he was unarmed. “You’ve done so much for me just by being here, I feel I have to repay you.”

With his closer proximity, the spirit could easily distinguish the Night Fury cocking his head to the side ever so slightly in the same manner Toothless did when he was confused. 

“I know you’re hurt. Let me take a look and we’ll see what I can do to help. I’m not the best of healers, but I know a thing or two.” 

Almost within arm’s reach now. 

Just a little more.

And all hell broke loose.

A bolt passed between the two. The Night Fury’s head snapped to the side and let loose a small burst of plasma. There was an explosion as a giant oak tree’s trunk took the brunt of the attack. The plasma melted the majority of the wood and with an earthly wail, the ancient tree toppled. Nygren cursed, scrambling to his feet from his hiding spot in the foliage and ran to clear the falling tree. 

Jack didn’t get a chance to see if the mortal managed to get clear, diving to the ground at the winds’ command. A bola flew overhead, intercepted by a plasma blast that vaporized the projectile. The spirit rolled out of the way, lest he be trampled on by the heavy dragon, and did a kip-up. By the time he was on his feet, the Night Fury had Harek pinned to the ground, jaws wrapped around the man’s sword arm while he uselessly tried to fend the creature off with the torch in his opposing hand.

A mighty snap and a blood-curling scream filled the night air. The torch in Harek’s remaining hand fell from his slackened grasp and rolled to a stop by the toppled tree. The spirit only recoiled slightly, his experience in battle preventing him from freezing up entirely as the man’s severed arm was flung into the darkness but it was enough to put him off balance. Thus, when Eir leapt forward, her staff raised above her head, ready to strike the Night Fury, Jack didn’t think and lunged between the two. A wheeze escaped the spirit’s lips and something shattered deep within him as the mortal passed through him.

Jack stood rooted to the spot. The cruel reminder that he was useless in a physical fight was crippling. But that didn’t keep the Guardian. He, himself, might be physically useless, but that didn’t make him _useless_. Rounding on the balls of his feet, hand outstretched, blue eyes narrowed in determination met with equally blue eyes wide in disbelief. A harsh twist of his wrist while simultaneously curling fingers inwards sharply had the winds racing forward ready to comply with the silent request. They tore through the foliage, throwing up debris and hurling Eir off her feet. 

The winds didn’t stop there. With a flick of pale fingers, they fanned the flames, dragging the torch across the withered fallen leaves and within seconds, a wall of fire formed between the mortals and the dragon.

“What is this?” Eir groaned out, stumbling to her feet.

“A warning,” Jack growled, knowing the girl couldn’t hear him but not caring. Jackson Overland did not like Dragon Trappers, he liked Dragon Hunters even less, and despite not knowing which category these people fell in, he hated them. They were chasing a dragon, the first one he had seen in the present even before his trip to the past, and to make matters worse, they were chasing a _Night Fury_. 

They would live to regret their life choices.

Thunder crackled overhead. A bolt of lightning struck the fallen tree, producing a yelp of fear as Nygren hastily stumbled from the tree limbs. Apparently, he had managed to get at least partially clear of the tree. The loss of his bearskin cloak was fleeting in comparison to the gory gash across his left eye socket showing he hadn’t made it far enough to come out of the ordeal intact.

“Harek, where’s Commander Harek? He’ll know what to do,” the warrior slurred, swaying as he stumbled a little too close to the fire.

“Harek’s down, I’m in charge now! We’re going to stick to the plan and get that beast!” Eir shouted over the howling winds, jabbing her staff toward the dragon on the other side of the wall of flames.

“No, you’re not,” Jack Frost slammed a hand onto the hard ground, ice crackling as it spread out around his fist. Another bolt of lightning struck not too far and the booming thunder all but drowned out Nygren’s shout. The man stumbled back, falling as his remaining eye stared straight up into the moonless night sky. A night sky which was even darker than before as the rolling thunderclouds let loose and hail the size of acorns began to fall.

“By Odin’s thunder. It’s true, _it’s true_ , the curse is real,” the warrior wailed, scrambling back and away from the fires, uncaring as he pressed himself up into Harek’s limp form. The blood flowing from his stump seeping into Nygren’s clothing and staining his hands.

“There’s no such thing! The curse is just some gibberish those sorcerers made up as a scare tactic! _It’s not real!_ ” Weather whatever curse they were discussing was real or not, Jack Frost was very much real and he wouldn’t let them hurt the Night Fury. A pulse of power shot out and upward, feeding the storm a touch of winter which flowed through the spirit.

With the mortals unable to see the eternal teenager, it appeared to them as though a bolt of lightning struck the ground he stood upon. The winds circling around the area as the hail turned to frozen shards of ice that sliced skin yet didn’t dampen the flames.

“Kári’s angry, we have angered the gods! We must retreat!” Nygren sobbed hysterically, fumbling to grab hold of his commander, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline.

“Retreat—?!” whatever more Eir had to say went unheard as another clap of thunder and bolt of lightning pierced the night. Jack couldn’t care less what either of them had to say, instead, he focused on keeping the storm from spreading, localizing it to the immediate area, specifically the hunters. A smirk befitting Snotlout spread across his face as Nygren dragged Harek away and Eir was forced to retreat with him. It took a lot of effort, but with the help of the winds, a piece of the storm broke off and trailed after them. Lightning dogging their every step until the group jumped through their portal. The winds lingered there until the hole closed up and the portal was gone, only then did Jack turn his attention to smothering the flames.

Slowly, the winds pulled back to a gentle breeze as the hail let up and fluffy flakes of white drifted down. It took longer than the spirit cared for, but between the blanket of snow and the lack of oxygen the winds whisked away, the fires were out. Letting out a heavy breath, Jack slumped forward, exhausted emotionally and magically.

The snapping of a twig had blue eyes glancing up straight into blue eyes.

For a moment, both beings didn’t move. Jack silently chastising himself for completely forgetting the dragon was there and the Night Fury staring down at him in confusion. Slowly, the dragon backed up and begin to circle him, eyeing him all the while and the Dragon Rider couldn’t help but eye the Night Fury back. Something about the Night Fury was off.

While Toothless had been medium-sized—not including Titan-class—for the average dragon, the one in front of him was a bit smaller and sleeker. No ridges ran along the length of the middle of the Night Fury’s head and, unlike Toothless, this one had two few appendages with shorter, rounder nubs. Add that with a smoother, rounder tailfins and Jack was starting to think the dragon before him was less a _he_ and more a _she_. 

He was slightly worried about the Night Fury’s scales since the coloring wasn’t uniform at all, but splotchy and discolored at best. He’d seen something similar a few times when a wild dragon didn’t have a suitable diet or the dragon was sickly but seeing how the dragon carried herself, he had a feeling it had less to do with natural causes. Add in the way she was doing her best to keep her tail wrapped close to her body and away from him, Jack knew it had more to do with the injuries she sustained from the Dragon Hunters than anything else.

The spirit continued to watch the wild dragon, slightly distracted as he strove to recall the best healing remedies for dragons. If he could get her to trust him, he could examine her a bit closer and determine what was wrong with her tail. He hoped to the gods her tailfin hadn’t been destroyed as Toothless’s had. If that was the case, he didn’t know what to do. Okay, that was a lie, he did know how to make various tailfins thanks to Hiccup, but he’d never made one himself. Not to mention, taking care of a dragon while such a debilitating injury healed would require a lot of work and time he didn’t know if he had. 

Too busy working out a way to help the Night Fury, Jack let his guard down and wasn’t prepared when, without any warning, the dragon bopped him on the head a few times. It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to jar him back to reality and upset his balance. Thus, he found himself being knocked over. He, thankfully, hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen to his knees and ended up sprawled across the icy ground.

“Hey, what was that for?” Jack sputtered out, as the dragon leaned down to sniff his hair. Her face scrunched up in confusion as she pulled away and made a distressed noise before trotting away.

The eternal teen blinked a few times, finding himself just as confused as the dragon who, from the sound of things, hadn’t gone far. In fact, she trotted back to him a few moments later with something in her mouth. Jack wasn’t given the time to figure out what it was before the Night Fury dropped it onto his stomach. More accurately, through his stomach, but the Druid didn’t exactly notice, too busy letting out a strangled scream as he scrambled to his feet and away from the severed arm. 

“That— _that is not okay_ ,” Jack huffed out. Regardless of the fact he was a spirit and didn’t eat, the Druid found himself queasy and a little bit dizzy. “Dropping severed limbs on people is _not_ acceptable. I get that some of your species will present dead animals as gifts of gratitude or because you think we can’t hunt for ourselves, and I’m okay with that. I mean, I can hunt for myself, but I don’t eat as I am now. But human body parts, yeah, those are a no-no…and what are you doing?”

As he was speaking, trying to calm himself down, the Night Fury had drawn closer again, looking him over. She then nudged him with one of her paws and made a noise that could only be described as alarmed. It took a moment before it dawned on the spirit what must be running through the dragon’s head.

“Oh…yeah, you saw that one hunter go right through me, didn’t ya?” Jack sighed heavily, closing his eyes at the painful reminder. “I—I…you see, I’m not exactly like you. Well, other than the obvious, you being a dragon, me being a human, but we are— _were_ in my case—alive. I am just a spirit now, but not in the traditional lingering ghost sense, I’m held to this plane by celestial magic.”

The dragon made an inquisitive whine, head tilting to the side and a single ear-plate rose. It was reminiscent of the look Toothless had when he didn’t understand a human custom and it made the Druid’s heart ping with longing. However, it was better than the all-out hostility that she’d been displaying before and if his words were enough to calm her down and get her to trust him, he would continue talking.

“Well, you see, how I figure it—and I’ve spent more time than I would like to admit pondering just _how_ Manny’s celestial veil works—only people who truly believe in me can see and touch me. Oh, I know it’s more complex than that since Jamie only saw me after he connected the frost bunny with Jack Frost. But belief and a name can’t be all there is to it since that’s not my birth name and yet Jamie still saw me. Not to mention, he knew the mantles of the other Guardians but not their names at the time either and was still able to see them.

“I think it’s similar to summoning. Like if I were to try to summon Kris Kringle, I would get the Old Man instead of North because it is a mantle he identifies with himself and North doesn’t. So, a person must truly believe and know the name or mantle of the person to see through the veil. I would say that was all to it, but it doesn’t explain why animals could see Guardians either. Bunny would definitely prefer if Abby couldn’t see him, but she _can_ and I know dogs are smart, but they don’t necessarily understand the concept of names and mantles. They are, however, more connected to the Balance of Nature.

“This leads me to believe since animals are sensitive to the Balance, that they aren’t necessarily seeing us, but sensing the void of Manny’s foreign celestial magic which isn’t a part of the natural balance. Creatures of Magic seem to fall in between the categories. While some could see me, others couldn’t which was really how I came up with my sensing theory. Snowy could see me when we were spirits, but he knew my name, whereas his mate knew I was there, but she couldn’t _see_ me. By magic, that was the first time in years someone had walked through me and I forgot how much it hurt until Skaði—”

A thrill of shock had blue eyes snapping open to see the dragon look at him with wide startled eyes which had glacier blue eyes widening before softening in realization.

“Huh, that explains it. You know of Skaði which means you also know Snowy. He must have spread my name to his kin if you can see me,” shakily, the eternal teenager lifted a hand to wipe away the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when they froze while being wiped away. “I’m just sorry that I won’t be able to thank him for keeping my memory alive.”

A soft questioning coo had Jack glancing up into the moonless night sky. “See, I’m going to be moving on soon. I readily accepted to temporarily host Snowy’s legacy—the inherent magic of his unborn hatchling—to bestow the draconic magic on a human, giving birth to a new line of Dragonlords. Snowy did warn me the draconic magic would disturb the magics binding me to this plane and I was prepared for the consequences. Soon, my spirit will move on…or crease to exist. Whichever happens, I’m glad to be moving on. I’m tired…” Jack shook himself, trying to get rid of the melancholy and put on a bright—if not brittle—smile for the dragon. “But until then, what say you that I take a look at that tail of yours there, hmm?”

The Night Fury cocked her head to the side and stood. Despite her smaller frame than Toothless, she still was slightly taller than him but not by much. Craning her neck forward, she nudged him one last time in the arm in what the spirit assumed was one last test to make sure he was there and tangible. What caught Jack off guard was when she pulled back, leaving a black smudge on his hoodie.

* * *

“Huh,” Jack murmured for what must have been the hundredth time. Looking down at the pile of soot and black slime-covered towels—and where the winds had acquired those from, he wasn’t going to ask—back to the Night Fury before him. As the dawning morning crept upon him, the eternal teenager was hard at work cleaning the dragon’s tail to treat her wounds before cleaning the rest of her. He thanked Freya that the tailfin wasn’t severed, but it was badly injured, and without knowing where the portal the Dragon Hunters had come from led to and her inability to fly, she was stuck there. As the Druid used the supplies the winds had helpfully gathered for him as well as a few limbs from the surrounding trees to make a splint, he formulated a plan. It was quite simple really, he would take her back to the Crystal Cave to heal, seeing how there was no way the hunters would find her and when she was ready to fly again—and if he was still around at the time—he would follow her back. 

Maybe she was the key to finding his home.

It was somewhere after that thought, Jack lost interest in coming up with a better plan than ‘follow dragon back to the Barbaric Archipelago’ and was distracted by removing the rest of the grime covering the Night Fury, revealing gleaming scales that glistened and glimmered in the early morning’s light. There was even a faint blue tint to some of her scales which, when the light hit just right, showed patterns that looked almost tribal-like. 

“I’m seeing, I’m still not believing. An albino Night Fury,” Jack blinked as the white dragon yawned and stretched out her wings while being mindful of the tail-splint. “We searched the Archipelago high and low for another Night Fury and never did we find one and yet, here I am. Managing to stumble across not only an ordinary Night Fury but an albino one at that. A Nightless Night Fury, imagine that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to do this to all you lovely readers, but I'm going to be taking a temporary break. I hope to be able to get a new chapter out sometime next month (just in time for my birthday) but I don't know if that will happen. The last few weeks have been hard on me (not, like this whole year hasn't been hard for everyone), because a family friend passed away sudden and unexpectedly (it wasn't COVID) which has shaken me and the rest of my family to the core.
> 
> Thank you for understanding and if this chapter has a bit more grammar/spelling errors, there's a very good reason why. Please just point them out to me and I'll fix them (and no, the chapter title is not an error, but spelled tail rather than tale on purpose).
> 
> SilverlySilence


	8. To Dream of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I missed my birthday, but I am back after a month as I promised. Let's just say that it was fortuous that I decided to take the time off and stated my intentions. Otherwise, some of you might have thought I died, which I didn't but I did manage to crash my computer. (Which sucked, because it crashed exactly when I got on to join a movie stream session. I saw like 5 minutes of it and then my computer froze.) Let's just say life has been hectic and leave it at that.
> 
> nefariousaway: It is never too late to write a review. I'll get a review years after I've written a story and it means a lot to me knowing that those fics are still being read and appreciated. And thank you for your condolences, please take care of yourself too!
> 
> Friendly_Pangolin24: Thank you Pangolin, you send the best hugs. *Hugs back*
> 
> Madcap_Miss: I always look forward to your reviews and you never disappoint. Despite being a SoaD review, I can't help but bring it up here along with a big hug. You are absolutely right, the twins' trust in Jackson wasn't freely given but earned through their observations of watching him with their nephew and the other kiddies. That they pick up on more than the rest of the Hooligans realize is something only a few of the Dragon Riders know but regularly forget because of their chaotic nature. As for your last review for this installment, BE VICDICTIVE all you want. Snowy's magic is more powerfully than Ombric's spell, that is a fact! And I can't fault your logic on prophecies, most of the time, I feel they are self-fulfilling. There's just so much more about your review I want to comment on but that would mean ~spoilers~. Therefore, I shall give you this instead: *Sips Tea*.
> 
> Red_dragonfruit: You are starting to rival Madcap in reviews (not that I'm complaining, because I'm loving every minute of it). Between you, Madcap, Spyrite, Fab, and Swirlie, there's a complete book of reviews alone (and I'm not exaggerating here because Procrastination actual took the time to figure out the word count on reviews for this series for those of you who don't know). Yes, your Eureka moment was right, it was LF that was the hunted white headed, blue eyed being, not to mention, also Taliesin's guest and this chapter is the continuation of the first chapter (FINALLY!) Also, I will not be able to get the idea of LF turning her nose up at Hiccup as being not awesome enough for Jack and Toothless being of no help whatsoever. Poor Hiccup, the Dragonlord being snub by a dragon for Jack. 
> 
> Please Review With Your Reactions to Learning What Name Jack Gave the Light Fury. Thoughts?

Jack sprang through the treetops, darting through the air, and when there were no branches to booster his travels, the winds pressed forward to carry him the extra length. Laughter filled the air as he swung through the magic laden lands. He could hear the calling of the Crystal Cave resonating throughout the Valley of the Fallen Kings. His own soul echoed the melody as he passed through the magical barrier concealing the area from the rest of the world.

“Hurry up!” Jack called over his shoulder, springing from a limb with a single hand and twisting his body upside down to gain a split-second view of Taliesin leisurely walking down below. The younger spirit stuck the landing on the next tree over, gazing out before him where the founder of his clan was a few trees ahead of him, walking at the same pace. “Show off.”

“I beg to differ, young warlock. I believe it is you, who is showing off,” Taliesin spoke loud enough for him to hear the older spirit without the winds help as Jack sprinted forward, vaulting off the trees at speeds which an elderly man walking should have been left far— _far_ —behind. Yet, no matter how fast he went, Taliesin was always a tree or two ahead of him.

“Nah, if I was showing off, I’d do something like _this_ ,” Jack shouted as he sprang into the air and with a flourish of his arms, a rail of ice formed before him. The winds happily supplied him with a thick, elongated piece of tree bark which he quickly shoved under his feet and proceeded to snowboard Viking style. Well, more like Viking snowboarding with a Jack Frost flare, because he created a few looped-loops and ramps. 

Creating one last looped-loop, ending with a ramp, Jack did an inverted flip and landed on top of a pile of snow. “Ta-da!”

“Impressive,” Taliesin commented from the rock he was comfortably seated upon a few meters away from the Crystal Cave. “It would have been even more impressive if you stuck the landing.”

“What do you mean ‘if _I_ stuck the landing’? I stuck the landing just fi- _ne,_ ” the eternal teen ended in a yelp as his ‘board’ was suddenly yanked from beneath his feet and he went toppling backwards into the snow.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” Jack whined, staring up into the sky above only for his view to abruptly change again. The snow white-haired spirit let out a shriek as a fish was dropped onto his stomach while a giant head leaned over him, deep blue eyes looking down into glacier blue orbs. “Gah! How many times are we going to go through this? I know I told you dropping human body parts on people is a no-no, but that does not mean you can go around dropping different animals on me to see if they go through me or not. Remember what happened to the rabbit? The poor thing almost died of fright.”

The Night Fury didn’t have the decency to look ashamed as Jack sat up, shoving the fish off to the side. He chose to ignore the chortling coming from Taliesin’s direction as he glared at the dragon sitting across from him. The Night Fury who didn’t have a single black scale on her was a far cry from the stealthy night predators that was Toothless.

Really, he should have named her—as an homage to his first impression of Toothless—White Menace, The Wild Dragon. As his time as a Dragon Rider of Berk, Jack couldn’t remember ever encountering a dragon as difficult as the albino dragon before him. Even those who’d been hunted, caged, and enslaved were easier to form a tentative bond with than the menace he’d rescued. The eternal teenager had thought since he mentioned the mated pair of Bewilderbeasts by name that a budding bond of trust had formed between them which was why she allowed him to fasten the splint on her tail. 

Far from it in fact.

She might have allowed him to clean and bandage her wounds the first night they met, but that hadn’t meant she trusted him. Now, he was positive she’d only allowed him to care for her because she was too exhausted to fight. A problem she didn’t have the next morning when he was abruptly thrown around like a ragdoll. Thankfully, Jack Frost wasn’t exactly alive and the winds had an unusual fondness for him. Otherwise, he’d been the one in a splint. If at the time, the albino dragon thought that was all it took to get him to leave her alone, she was sorely mistaken. He was just as stubborn as a certain fourteen-year-old auburn-haired Viking had been when he’d first come across the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death. 

If not more so. 

After all, Jack spent three hundred years as a spirit few could see and even fewer spoke to. He survived when many others would have gone insane with only themselves for company and in those years, the eternal teenager had learned a lot of things. Patience and stubbornness were only two of the many talents he’d picked up. So it came as no surprise to him and only earned a raised eyebrow from Taliesin when the white menace eventually answered to the name Jack gifted her.

“Nightless,” Jack warned as the albino Night Fury made to pick up the fish again. Immediately, she took a step back and hunkered down, giving him her most pitiful gaze. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I am not going to be swayed, nope, not this time. Especially since you’ve been giving Taliesin such a hard time. You made him leave The Cave for what’s got to have been the first time in several eras. That’s not nice, not when he’d graciously allowed you to stay here with those horrible hunters still out there.”

At the mention of hunters, Nightless let out a low growl which was quickly cut short with just a look from the white-haired spirit. He hated Dragon Hunters just as much as she did, but his Druid heritage kept him from killing them. The albino Night Fury had no such problems and Jack couldn’t, wouldn’t, and didn’t blame her for her actions. Not when her actions were partly his fault. She hadn't trusted him and he wouldn't allow her to roam free, not while she was injured and especially not with the Dragon Hunters still out there. To keep the albino Night Fury safe, Jack had unintentionally become her jailor and the Crystal Cave her cage. He felt like a hypocrite, no better than Viggo and his heart hurt every time he'd have to force her back after one of her escape attempts.

Despite his best attempts, Nightless had snuck by him and out of not only the clearing, but outside the barrier protecting the Crystal Cave. The barrier that kept the Dragon Hunters at bay. He had found her in a situation eerily similar to when he'd first laid eyes on the soot-covered albino Night Fury. The only difference in the outcome was that the Dragon Hunters didn’t get off as lightly as they had the first time. At least that time, they’d all left with their lives. This time two of them—the two guards he never got the names of—could not say the same. That, and Jack might have, kind of, used magic instead of his ice to assist the dragon that almost had his atoms scattering to the winds. He couldn't say for sure since the spirit definitely blacked out for a moment and hadn't seen just how close he was to losing cohesion.

On the plus side, Jack could safely say his recklessness had earned him the albino Night Fury's trust having come back to his senses with the white dragon wrapped around him cooing and nuzzling his hair. On the other hand, that left the original trio of Dragon Hunters still at large. A few times, the Guardian thought he’d caught sight of Eir around the barrier, but before he could do more than take a second look she was halfway through a portal to the Nevernever. It put not only Nightless on edge, but him as well. Taliesin reassured them a number of times Eir could never pass through the barrier concealing the lands, but that didn’t stop Jack’s anxiety from skyrocketing every time he caught sight of the girl.

A pitiful whine had the eternal teen sighing. With a shake of his head, Jack relented and chucked the fish back at the dragon. Nightless happily gulped down the snack in one go before lavishing him with her gratitude, rubbing her head against his and purring happily. 

“I see you really stuck to your word there, not relenting in the slightest at those big blue eyes,” Taliesin drawled out.

“I did no such thing.”

“Then what, pray tell, do you call that little encounter?”

“Returning the fish she dropped on me.”

“And how is that not giving in?”

“It’s not giving in because that wasn’t a treat. It was her food which she hunted for without my help and it would have been rude of me to take it since spirits don’t eat. It would be considered giving in if I was to give her this though,” Jack reached into his hoodie and pulled out a handful of greenery.

“Grass? You think giving a dragon a handful of grass would be a treat?”

Glacier blue eyes rolled before reaching out and placing the still moist bundle into the older spirit’s hand. “This isn’t just grass. This is Dragon Nip, aka Catnip for dragons. I had to do some real haggling with a bunch of the Little Folk in Burgess just to get that much. Apparently, it is a rare plant nowadays. Figured I’d get you some to have on hand to calm Nightless down when she gets in one of her moods.”

“You mean when she’s gone stir-crazy and getting into things inside the cave?”

“Exactly.”

“I prefer just making you deal with it,” Taliesin smiled, pushing him forward. “Now go and play with that overgrown winged-cat.”

Nightless let out a growl.

“She can understand you, ya know.”

“I know, but until she uses those wings to prove me otherwise, she’s going to remain an overgrown winged-cat to me.”

Jack had no comeback and instead followed the elderly man’s advice—more like a command—and went off to release some of the dragon’s pent-up energy. It wasn’t like Taliesin was wrong. Nightless, while fully healed, couldn’t fly. She glided just fine, but it was almost as if she’d had her tailfin severed like Toothless, rendering her flightless.

With slitted pupils, the dragon glared for all she was worth at the elder spirit. A second later, her pupils widened to bulky blocks and a heavenly purr escaped her throat as Jack rubbed the scales between her ear-plates.

“Come on Nightless, let’s go have some fun,” the young spirit pulled away and with a wave to Taliesin the duo headed out. Their pace steadily increased as they wove in between the trees. Nightless's fluid strides easily covered great distances as if she were flying rather than galloping on all fours through the forest whereas Jack was at a disadvantage navigating the dense foliage on two legs. A little boost from the winds and he was up in the tree branches, quickly overtaking the Night Fury. A cry of indignation followed after him that had him laughing and speeding up.

Every once in a while, Jack would glance down to make sure he had not lost the dragon in their impromptu game of chase. Not that it was a problem seeing as Nightless was never far behind. Bouncing over fallen tree trunks and clawing her way over moss-covered boulders. Steadily, the white-haired Guardian climbed higher and higher up into the trees. Nightless let out a sharp growl of displeasure as he moved further from her with no way to follow. A few shouted taunts below had white wings spreading and Jack couldn’t keep the grin of anticipating from his lips. On his next jump into an open clearing, the spirit’s hopes soared as the dragon spread her wings and leapt towards him.

The winds helpfully kept the white-haired Guardian afloat while his spirit slumped as Nightless fell back towards the ground.

With a heavy heart, Jack let his feet touch the ground and steadily made his way over to the hunched over albino Night Fury. “It’s alright. You almost had it that time. With a little more work, I’m sure we’ll have you flying in no time.”

Nightless didn’t perk up at his words of encouragement and instead curled in on herself. It took the Guardian a good ten minutes to coax her out of her shell and another five minutes to lift her mood to continue on with their game. Jack lure the dragon into a few more different scenarios in hopes of getting her to fly, but nothing worked. Nightless never flew. The closest they got was her gliding down from one of the large boulders and even then, her flight was unstable at best. Any more attempts were put on hold to prevent the still-recovering dragon from overexerting herself.

Together, they headed back to the Crystal Cave where Jack rewarded Nightless for all her hard efforts with the Dragon Nip he’d bargained so hard for. She immediately collapsed in a blissed-out state. Somehow, she managed to untie the bundle and spread out the grass to gleefully roll around in it. Jack couldn’t help but laugh in delight and joined the dragon sprawled out on the ground.

* * *

It was dark. Only a few strands of Manny’s light filtering down through the clouds, which was odd because the last time he checked there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky and the sun was still up. He tried to crane his neck to pinpoint the moon’s position in the sky, but his whole body felt stiff and he could hear the cracks as his head turn only fractionally to the side. His head didn't move much, but it was enough for his sluggish brain to register just what he’d been looking at. 

Instantly, without having to look at a map, he knew he was twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. Located on the isle solidly on the Meridian of Misery, he stood facing the cliffs overlooking the calm water on Berk. He could see the backs of two of the sea statues, the outward glow an indicator the fires which burned there were still lit, but while one of them was of a Viking chief as he remembered, the other looked more dragon in shape than that of a past Chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe.

Moreover, the terrain before him was less a wet heap of rock and more packed than he recalled. The catapults and trebuchets that once dominated Berk’s towers during wartime gave way to aqueducts and wing-inspired windmills along with the Dragon Racing bleachers he'd watch being built when lived there were still there but _not_. They were similar yet different. Obviously, the towering structures and windmills were of a newer, updated design with more colors that probably looked brighter in the sun but were muted in the night. What was completely different were the tall tree-like structures with Viking huts perched on various limbs that he caught sight of out of the corner of his eye.

Everything looked the same.

Everything looked so foreign.

The contrast was so slight, that it was large enough to shake him to the core. 

He wanted to turn around and see all of Berk instead of overlooking the waves. But at the same time, he didn’t dare move. He was afraid of what he would find. Instead, his focus was drawn to the only sounds that penetrated the otherwise silent night.

“ _Ic her aciege ænne windræs._ _Ic her aciege ænne windræs. Ic her aciege ænne windræs_.” 

It was a spell he recognized, but an incomplete one at that. One that was supposed to summon a powerful whirlwind to strike, but the spellcaster hadn’t specified a target. Instead, the spell in its current state only summoned a storm of wind. Regardless, a spell, no matter how mistakenly spoken or incorrect had power. As long as the will and the determination were there, the magic behind the spell would manifest and take shape, especially when thrice repeated. Just, not the way they were supposed to when spoken incorrectly.

A sharp cry had him glancing down—and when had he gotten so tall?—to find the spellcaster trembling at his knees. She was a tiny thing yet the traditional kransen studded with blunt metal studs belied her shieldmaiden heritage. The sleeveless dark bluish-grey tunic topped with brown leather shoulder pads and coordinating cloth bracers lined in fur were clearly new despite the dirt. Yet the wide red sash used as a belt had seen better days and was almost as worn as the brown leggings over her reddish-brown leather skirt that bore the same blunt metal studs as her kransen. The sets of leather bands around her biceps matched her hair bindings but it was the reddish-brown book hanging by its spine from a strap draped over her shoulder right next to the small blue pouch on her belt that caught his attention. For a red outline of a Night Fury's head was depicted on it. 

Next to her an even smaller person stood. The tan long-sleeved tunic with a decorative trimming on the end of the sleeves and the hem did nothing to hide his thin, lanky stature. Even his baggy brown pants couldn’t hide how tiny he truly was and the light brown fur and suede boots on his feet would have been better suited for his sister-because there was no doubt in his mind these two were siblings—given that they matched the slightly dark shade of boots she currently wore. The tiny sword—more like a dagger—tucked in his dark brown belt and the trio of sharp dragon teeth dangling from his necklace were adorable for the little Viking. He, like his sister, had a Night Fury's head—his in the form of a belt buckle—on his person.

Looking at the siblings, there was no denying it. They were the perfect blend of House Hofferson and House Haddock. The little shieldmaiden’s auburn hair was definitely a Haddock trait but it was pulled out to the sides in two thickly bound pigtails. A classic Hofferson hairstyle that made their blue eyes seemed all the larger and it was no different on this little one’s face. Her brother, on the other hand, inherited the brilliant green eyes and, unfortunately, the unruly hair—only partly tamed into a few tiny braids at the nape of his neck—the Haddocks were known for but the blond coloring was all Hofferson.

“— _work?_ ” he’d missed most of what the young boy was saying too busy staring, yet the frightened edge to the whispered words was enough to make him frown.

“I—I—I don’t know!” the girl almost cried, her small voice trembled as she heaved back the sobs. Her little shoulders shook while her brother’s lower lip trembled. All he wanted to do was grabbed the two and sweep them up into a huge hug, whispering soothing words and maybe a story or two to drive away the fear.

Instead, his eyes darted towards slithering shadows creeping closer toward them. The faint moonlight slowly disappearing behind the heavy clouds allowed the shadowy creatures free rein in the opened night. He all but growled at the sight of the Nightmares. He disliked Nightmares, the stolen Dreamsands corrupted into something far from the beautiful dreams they were intended to be but to find them in Berk? 

That was unforgivable.

The growl startled the children, the little boy clung to his sister as they whirled around to see the growing number of Nightmares creeping out of the shadows. The gold of their eyes ominous as their bodies came into view. Unlike the Nightmares of Easter `12, these weren’t horses. These chose the form of birds and rabbits which look less like their natural counterparts, but more in line with grotesque versions of Mini Fairies and smaller monstrous-looking Pookas. They were tiny in comparison to the Nightmare Yeti bringing up the rear.

A screech filled the unnatural silence and the mob pounced. Surging forward, his sword—since when did he have a sword and one made of ice too? He didn’t remember making a sword of ice—deafly sliced through the first wave of Nightmare Rabbits. He backhanded the Nightmare Birds, swatting them away as he hunched over to pull the two children closer to him and shield them from the on slaughter. An astonished expletive left the lips of the older of the siblings and he might have admonished the girl for such language if it weren’t for the fact he was in the middle of skewering a few blackbirds and her brother’s curse was much worse.

This time, as he dispatched a Nightmare, he noticed the slain creatures reverted back to the golden sands and fell uselessly to the ground. It was a huge weight off his chest, knowing that another hoard wouldn’t rise from the tainted Dreamsand but one he couldn’t celebrate as the Nightmare Yeti reached him. He was not fast enough to deflect the punch to the face, flinging him backwards where his back collided with something hard. 

He should have been a little bit concerned he hardly felt anything at all from the blow and the rough landing. Then again, when what he hit _moved_ , it was understandable he was distracted.

Neck wrenching as far back as possible, fear of being ambushed from behind assaulted him. It wasn’t another Nightmare behind him. Far from it. No, behind him was a full-sized ice replica of Toothless down to the red discoloration depicting his prosthetic tailfin. The ice dragon creaked as it looked down at him, ice crystals falling to the ground as it cocked its head to the side. Slowly, it moved, the sound of cracking ice filling the air as more debris fell from the stiffly moving dragon. As the ice dragon stretched, its movements became more and more fluid and the cracking settled down.

Then, in a move remnant to Toothless, the ice Night Fury nudged him to his feet and flipped him onto its back. The dragon looked back at him with a questioning look and with a nod of his head, the dragon turned his—because he definitely was a him and not an _it,_ never an _it_ —head towards the Nightmare Yeti lumbering over the two children. A blast, not of plasma but a compressed ball of wind mixed with shards of ice, hit the top half of the Nightmare. The creature was blown back, shards of ice embedded deeply into the black sands and grew outward, turning the granules gold wherever the ice reached.

He didn’t notice, already drawing his sword to the side and dispersing any Nightmares he could reach as the ice Night Fury charged threw the growing hoard. His tail flicked out, swatting the Nightmare Birds with excessive force. The ground was now glittering with golden dust and yet the Nightmares kept coming. He didn’t think as he reached out and plucked the blond boy surrounded by Nightmare Rabbits off the ground and placed him in the saddle before him. The ice dragon was on the same wavelength and had grabbed the auburn-haired girl with his now protruding teeth by the back of her shirt while he rescued her brother. Twisting around, the ice replica dropped the shieldmaiden on his back behind his first rider. 

Little arms stretch to wrap around his waist the best they could as the dragon flicked his tail, sending a few Nightmare Rabbits crashing into the dark birds. With the little clear space they now had, the ice dragon didn’t waste the opportunity and leapt up into the night. Giant ice wings flapped and he instinctively switched the gear, an icy red tailfin flaring open as powdery flakes fell to the ground, singeing gold where they fell on the Nightmares. Yet, he didn’t notice, they were long gone by them.

* * *

“Jack. _Jackson!_ ” the sharp voice had the young spirit bolting up, frantically looking about. Yet, all he found was the familiar surroundings near the Crystal Cave. Twilight had fallen across the lands and a gentle breeze brushed through the leaves. Nothing atypical. Everything was how it should have been. Save for the two worried faces peering down at him. “Are you okay, young warlock? You appeared to be having a rather intense nightmare.”

Nightmare?

There was no possible way he could have had a nightmare. He didn’t—couldn’t—was incapable—of falling asleep. He was a spirit for the White Goddess’s sake. There was no possible way he had a nightmare. And yet, it all made perfect sense. 

There was no logic in dream logic and it would explain away a hell of a lot. Why he seemed taller was only his mind’s way of granting him the height he lacked. The ice sword appeared because he was fighting and his mind subconsciously gave him a weapon in the dream. Then there was how Berk was so familiar but not, it was his desire to return conflicting with real-world logic that the Berk he knew was gone. Not to mention the unnatural silence of Berk’s typical noisy nocturnal residences.

Even the appearance of the children made sense. He might have never voiced it or even allowed it to cross his mind, but the doubt pushed down way deep was still there. It was all Gobber’s fault really. In a drunken stupor, he’d unintentionally revealed Hiccup’s past crush on Astrid. Jack never cared how much time the auburn-haired Viking spent with the shieldmaiden—or, for that matter, any of the other Dragon Riders—one-on-one. They were all friends long before he arrived and—he fervently hoped—they were friends long after his departure as well. Still, he was never able to quite shake the feeling if he hadn’t found his way to Berk, Hiccup and Astrid would have gotten together and those children were his mind making that a reality.

“I was asleep?” Jack felt a bit of déjà vu, flashing back to when he woke up on Berk after dying in the present. Though, the pained looked that crossed the older spirit’s face had that train of thought derailing. He had a bad feeling that he hadn’t so much fallen asleep as he’d faded away. Far too close to vanishing for either Taliesin or Nightless’s liking going off of their expressions. “I guess it’s almost time then?”

The offered smile did little to change Taliesin’s frown into something more uplifting. “No, not long now.”

Smiling brighter—because what more could he do?—Jack turned his attention towards the distressed albino Night Fury. “Well, I guess that means we’ve got some work to do. I wouldn’t want you to be stranded here just because I wasn’t around to help you learn to fly again.”

Nightless let out a low whine and nuzzled his hair. Jack only allowed himself the one moment of weakness—a single teardrop freezing as it left glacier blue eyes—before he stood, exuberating a wealth of cheer he did not feel. He was determined to get the dragon flying again. Even if he wouldn’t be around to follow her back.

At least one of them would return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, was it worth the wait?


	9. Overlapping the Past—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love hate relationship with this chapter, it has taken up all my free time writing and rewriting it in a way that I hope makes sense. Please let it make sense because it is killing my sanity. At one point I was tempted to throw my laptop across the room and with how much I value my laptop, you know I was beyond frustrated with this. Hopefully, I've gotten things cleaned up in such away that everything flows together fluidly instead of the choppy mess it was. 
> 
> PrincessMerleen08: If I told you what things mean, than that would ruin the story. You'll just have to wait and read. *Sips tea*
> 
> Swirlzie: Thank you for the belated Birthday wishes, I appreciate them. *Hug* Oh, and there is a question about who the two adorable kids that Jack met were? There was? Hmm, I didn't read them. *Sips tea to hide sinister grin.*
> 
> felicianoludwig: I don't mean to play with your heart...it just happens. As for Nightless dropping things on Jack, at first it was her testing to see what does and doesn't go through him but by now, it's a game. 
> 
> Madcap_Miss: Once more, you earn the Silver Star for review on this chapter despite some of your theories being off (which is the only hint I'm giving you). *sips tea* Anyways, I'm glad the nonlinear time line is actually coming across coherently and someone likes it, I wasn't sure of it since the last time I play around with jumping around in a timeline it wasn't too well received. I'm a little too happy that you mentioned Taliesin's contrast with the Big 4, because while he's been isolated for generations, he's still willing to connect with people and have fun instead of brooding all the time about protecting the cave. But the true reason you get the Silver Star is because you pick up on THAT LINE. That whole section was magnificent and was what I was aiming for and that it came across correctly had tears in my eyes. You are amazing and as such, here is another chapter for you to read. 
> 
> DarkFrostWolf: THANK YOU! You are the only one who actually told me your thoughts on what you think of me naming the LF Nightless. I appreciate it and I also want to thank you for hanging around this series for so long (you were one of my first reviewers for SoaD and to see that you're still here makes me truly happy).*Hugs*
> 
> Happy Readings.

Jack would have like to say he knew why Bunny had summoned him hopping mad. 

He really would. 

Then he would have known what he was in for. 

He had no idea.

The Guardian of Fun hadn’t so much as played a single prank on anyone since returning from the Barbaric Archipelagoes. Part of the reason he hadn’t so much as nipped at a mortal’s nose was that it just didn’t seem right. Not without Ruffnut and Tuffnut around to share in the chaotic outcome. Yet he would be lying to himself if he claimed that was the only reason keeping him from playing a good prank or two. Jack just wasn’t in the mood. He felt like the aftermath of surviving the Eel Pox only worse. It was hard to describe. He wouldn’t say he was in pain and he couldn’t say his whole body didn’t ache, leaving him feeling drained. All he wanted to do was curl up with Nightless and let his weary heart rest rather than trudging towards the Warren feeling out of sorts as he did. Unfortunately, he couldn’t refuse an official Guardian Meeting summons.

That wasn’t going to stop Jack from chucking the little mechanical stone egg at Bunny’s face the instant the Pooka was in his sights. He hadn’t known that they came in a smaller version other than the oversized angry stone Egg Warrior that stood sentry in the Warren and he definitely hadn’t known that they could be used as a sort of two-way radio. All he did know was that Taliesin should have never brought the lost egg wandering outside the barrier back to the cave. Actually, he should have just let Nightless blast the damn thing as she was inclined to do when it starting screaming at him in Bunny’s voice.

Nightless had not been thrilled with the racket.

She was even less thrilled to be left behind.

Sighing, Jack pulled his hood up and relaxed into the winds, allowing them to usher him towards one of the Warren’s many hidden entrances around the world. Bunny hated it. The Pooka couldn’t understand how the Guardian of Fun was always able to sneak into his highly secured Warren when he was constantly closing and opening new entrances. Bunny just didn’t understand that where the winds went, they were happy to take their little companion if he asked it of them with the sole caveat that no magics prohibited them from doing so and Jack wasn’t about to inform him of that loophole.

Bare feet soon found themselves walking along moss-covered rocks rather than the harsh forest floor that led him towards a nearly overgrown tunnel. The Wee Folk in the trees above perked up, startled at the spirit’s arrival, and even more curious when he moved the vines aside to reveal an opening previously unknown to them. Soon the darkness receded as multiple colors bathed the foliage in light. As he made his way into the tunnel a few of the braver fae followed after him as discreetly as they could. Which was to say, not an ounce of discretion as their orbs of light illuminated the rock walls.

“Come on, this way. I wouldn’t want you to get lost down here and I’m not sure if Pooka magic would interfere with opening up a portal to the Nevernever, so it’s best if you stick close,” Jack called out, not bothering to turn around as a few of the Dewdrop Faeries hesitated to follow him down a fork in the path while a larger numbered raced back to the surface.

A shrilled whine echoed down the tunnel and the spirit couldn’t tell if it was one of fright or surprise. He imagined it was the second as a moment later he felt various fae zip in close to his person. One even flew into the pocket of his hoodie and settled in there when he made no move to shoo him out. The rest quickly followed suit, zipping around him in search of their own spot to take up residence. Most of them joined the first fae in his pocket seeing he didn’t have as many spaces to hide in as his Viking clothes had.

“You’ll love the Warren,” the eternal teenager assured the Dewdrop Faeries. “It’s spring all the time and if I’m not mistaken, most of you are Summer Court fae, so you’ll appreciate that. Much of it is under Australia with ever-changing tunnels branching out all over the world but Bunny’s actual home—it’s more like a temple which I’m not _really_ supposed to know—is on Easter Island. Being underground, there are a lot of rocks, but as you can see, moss grows everywhere and the closer we get, the more plants we’ll see. So if you get lost in the labyrinth of tunnels, follow the plants.

“Inside the Warren itself, there are tons of trees and even more plants. A lot of it was built using Pooka technology and magic, so a lot of the trees and plants are not of this world and I’d be careful around any stone eggs like this—” Jack held up the palm-sized egg “—they’re Bunny’s sentries and will attack intruders. I wish I could say they were effective and you shouldn’t go around them, but they didn’t do a good job protecting the eggs during Easter of `12. 

“I know the Egg Warriors mainly stay in the Warren and don’t venture out, but really, the Easter Eggs were destroyed while exiting the tunnels. Technically, the entrances are a part of the Warren, so the Egg Warriors should have been there protecting the Easter Eggs. _Come on!_ ” the growl of frustration had the white-haired spirit clenching the stone egg just a bit tighter. “The Guardians _knew_ Pitch was trying to destroy Easter and they couldn’t even put a _little_ more effort into protecting the gateways to their layers? Even _Snotlout_ knew to fortify the defenses after being directly attacked once and he always wants to charge in headfirst and the Guardians’ domains had already breached not once but _twice_. Pitch had already gained access to the North Pole _and_ ravaged the Tooth Palace, why _wouldn’t_ you strengthen your defenses when your allies’ perimeters were already breached?”

Jack took in a shaky breath, his past resentment still managing to spark a fiery reaction in the eternal teen touched by winter even years later. 

“Sorry, got a little off-topic there, Astrid and Berk’s Guard must have rubbed off on me a little more than I realized.” The former brunet intentionally left Heather off of the list seeing how he didn’t feel the need for any kind of retribution or assassination as her Berserker blood called for. “Anyways, what I was trying to say was be cautious. The Egg Warriors sentries shouldn’t be taken lightly. As long as you don’t attack the Warren, they don’t attack you. Be careful and be considerate because this is Bunny’s territory and please don’t be going telling everyone about this, it’s a secret. Oh, and don’t let Bunny know I was the one to show you the way in, kay?”

A few affirmative tinkers—along with a few giggles at his rant—answered him. The timing was perfect too, as they left the tunnel and entered the oasis. It was just as Jack described it and more. The trees were tall and produced leaves not of the earth in colors better suited for flowers and the flowers were more whimsical than a Disney fantasy movie. Unlike the dark tunnels, light filtered down from above as a mini sun floated just meters below the cavern’s ceiling. There was even a stream of water which flowed through the terrain, defying the laws of gravity to go up and over mountains reaching across rock bridges to feed all the vegetation.

“Hey,” Jack rapped the nearest Egg Warrior. The stone egg was twice as large as him and seemed to have been there for decades going by how it was more or less covered by moss and the amount of undisturbed flowering vines wrapping around the barely noticeable legs. The spirit knew different and wasn’t the least bit surprised when the egg rotated to show a scowling carved face glaring down at him. “Where is Bunny?”

The Egg Warrior didn’t move for a moment, its fixed eyes seemingly staring at Jack and then behind him for a long pause before its head turned to look outwards. Following its gaze, blue orbs saw another stone egg that turned to look in another direction when it saw him looking at him, creating a path for him to follow.

“Thanks,” the eternal teen patted the first Egg Warrior on the side. During Jack’s one-sided conversation, one of the fae peeked out from his hoodie pocket and had tentatively flown over to the Pooka sentry. Only now did the Egg Warrior take notice of the glowing ball of pink and it didn’t seem to know what to think going off the way its faced rotated to show another carved face, this one with a blank expression. “Oh, and this is a friend of mine. Please don’t hurt him or his friends, they just wanted to have a look around and get to know you as neighbors would.”

The Egg Warrior’s face was back on the scowl but since it didn’t outright attack, Jack took that to mean it was fine for the Dewdrop Faeries to be there. With permission, they scattered, searching their new environment with awe and wonder as the spirit followed the line of sight each sentry pointed him in. He finally caught sight of the rest of the Guardians as he crossed the zenith of a rock bridge. For whatever reason, they were gathered at the base of a steep cliff face and not at the stone gathering table Jack knew Bunny kept near his orchard of ‘Googie Trees’ which Jack was still pretty sure was a fowl-plant chimera—how else could they produce eggs?—no matter how many times the Pooka insisted they were common fruit—eggs _were not_ fruit, ya Easter Kangaroo!—trees in the Golden Ages.

True to his word, Jack hurled the small stone egg at the back of the Guardian of Hope’s head as soon as he was close enough. Tall ever alert ears twisted at the sound of air parting and Bunny leaned to the side, paw coming up to catch the projectile.

“Oh, ya gumbie! What was that for?” the Pooka turned to glare at the approaching spirit, having a hard time reading the boy’s expression with his hood covering half his face. Though it was not enough to hide the tired scowl darkening Jack’s lower face and he didn’t even have to see those blue eyes to know they were glaring at the Communication Egg in his paw. 

He _might_ have been a bit too harsh when contacting the youngest member of the Guardians. 

“Eeh, so I might have deserved that, but what else am I supposed to think when I find _ice_ in my Warren?” a paw was waved towards numerous chunks of ice varying in size—and did that one look like an _arm?!_ —littering the ground around the nearest fissure in the cliff face. Nothing about the ice screamed unnatural save for the fact they had only begun to melt regardless of the warm climate. 

“ _Ice?_ ” the genuine confusion in Jack’s voice would have been enough to convince the Guardian of Hope that the spirit had nothing to do with the ice if he had any lingering doubts. As it was, the winter affiliated spirit had already been proven innocent long before his arrival but not before Bunny had sent out the summons to the rest of the Guardians looking for the little troublemaker when the Guardian of Fun hadn’t answered his personal summons.

“Yes, _ice!_ No ordinary ice. An _ice sculpture_ worthy of me,” North loudly boasted, proudly pounding a fist to his chest. A look that quickly turned into an unhappy frown as a dead stare was thrown towards the Easter Bunny. “Until someone threw Bomber Eggs at it.”

“ _Crickey!_ Would you give it a rest? You didn’t even see the bloody thing! What was I supposed to do? The damned thing was in _my_ Warren,” the Pooka took a threatening step towards the former bandit.

“It was an ice sculpture I wanted to see,” North shot back, almost nose to nose with Bunny.

“It _attacked me!_ ”

“Something attacked you? In your own Warren?” Jack felt disbelief and a bit of fear rise up inside of him, his mind immediately supplying an image of the Boogieman. 

“Yes! See, Frostbite understands!”

“It was ice sculpture, harmless, I prove it to you!” the Guardian of Wonder raised his fist and marched over to the fissure’s opening. Where both Sandy and Toothiana were standing off to the side and they weren’t there to put some space between them and the two bickering Guardians as Jack had initially assumed. No, they appeared to be standing guard over the opening as to not let anything out.

Jack was at a loss on what he’d just walked into. Even Sandy’s Dreamsand language was preferable than being left out in the dark. Bunny obviously initially thought he had something to do with the ice in his Warren but was since proven wrong. Not to mention North seemed to think the Easter Bunny was overreacting which left the Guardian of Fun very confused. 

Uncertainly, he followed North for a few steps only to break stride and linger near one of the chunks of ice when the Druid felt the unmistakable tingling of magic radiating from every molecule of the destroyed ice shards. Though it was fading fast, fighting a losing battle against the heat and slower than natural, it was returning to its liquid state as the magic dissipated. Even in its broken, degradation state, Jack thought he detected something akin to an animation spell involved but he couldn’t be positive. 

Before Jack could voice his findings—or demand an explanation—the former bandit determinedly marching his way passed his fellow Guardians and through the fissure’s opening.

He was promptly flung right back out and plowed into Jack.

Then all hell broke out.

Whatever had thrown the large man had followed him out of the fissure. Sandy took to the air when what was clearly an ice sculpture burst forth in a blur of motion, swinging a blade which met the steel of Toothiana’s scimitars. The blocked blade didn’t stop the construct as it pushed the Guardian of Memories back and disengaged to take another swing. Once again, the Warrior Queen parred the attack and it became a blur of dancing blades. One that was obvious a decoy as Sandy took up a position above and formed a giant flyswatter with his Dreamsand.

It might have been effective too, if not for the second ice construct to burst forth from the fissure and took a flying leap at the little golden man. Bunny shouted out a warning even as he was in the middle of throwing one of his Bomber Eggs towards the halfway formed flyswatter. Sandy immediately dissipated not only the Dreamsands of the flyswatter but that of his cloud as well, reforming them a few feet underneath him where he landed with a soft bounce. The egg, however, passed right through where the Guardian of Dreams had been and collided with the second sculpture.

The resounding blast had more shards raining down over the top of the blade dancers below while the remaining majority of the construct was thrown against the cliff face. The impact was almost as loud as the blast had been and more damaging as it splintered the rocks. A few small chunks fell around the fissure opening but it was the cloud of dust that produced a problem, concealing the ice sculpture from view. Sharp eyes caught movement from within the dust and the Pooka wasted no time in hurling a handful of Bomber Eggs at the cloud.

Jack had just pushed himself up off the ground when shrieks pierced his ears over the low groan of North’s whine as he stumbled onto his feet. Glacier blue eyes darted towards the settling dust and caught his first glimpse of the offensive intruders. There, clinging to the side of the rock with sharp claws which easily puncturing holes into solid earth, wings flared out, and with the slight discoloration of the ice around it— _his_ —left tailfin made him unmistakable.

A Night Fury made of ice.

One who gracelessly dodged the trio of explosives hurling his way with ease. The bombs exploded, further damaging the cliff face. It was only because he was still lying on the ground that Jack could see inside the fissure’s opening as dirt and rocks began to cave inward. Outlining two small forms that definitely were _not_ ice constructs and in very real danger.

A thunderous crack tore through the Warren as the abused cliff face gave away. The sound was enough to cover up fearful cries from all, save for the ear-plates of the ice Night Fury. Despite not being able to hear them, glacier blue eyes were focused on the opening and knew of the peril. He was already on his feet, running as the rocks broke free.

Jack was too far away.

The ice Night Fury was not.

He bound down the cliff face, faster than the rocks were falling, and landed heavily, limbs locking as wings flared outward. Despite the appendages being of ice, they didn’t shatter as the rocks and other debris toppled off them. They were durable, but not enough to take on another barrage of Bunny’s Bomber Eggs hurtling toward the ice construct.

Jack probably wasn’t that durable either. That didn’t stop him from inserting himself between the explosives and the dragon. Arms flying up as his heart raced in his chest. He could feel the normally passive draconic magic flaring up inside of him as ice burst forth.

“ _Stop._ ” 

The world listened. 

Or more precisely, everything froze. 

A look around revealed three colorful eggs about two feet away from him frozen in a solid spiral of ice about seven feet high and two feet thick at the base. A few more spirals were jutting up from the ground, spearing thick boulders and holding them in the air. Those were twice and some even three times as big as the ones holding the eggs. The ice didn’t stop there either. Frost patterns coated the ground, climbing up the trees and creating a thin sheet of ice across the cliff face in a perfect circle with Jack as the epicenter.

North’s booming voice came out no louder than a whisper and yet it easily carried throughout the silenced battlefield. “Jack—"

“—Frost! Bloody hell, ya gumbie, what were ya thinking?!” Bunny’s shriek came a second later, his fellow Guardian’s voice snapping him out of his shell-shocked of seeing their youngest member put himself in front of his Bomber Eggs.

Jack lowered his arms, fist-clenching at his side as he trembled. The cold fury coursing through his veins made it hard not to lash out but he managed to bite back the overwhelming emotions. Instead, he turned to the ice dragon looking between him and the rest of the Guardians before the icy gaze stayed firmly fixed on him. Ear-plates drew back against his head in such a way that they appeared threatening and the Big Four tensed. However, the spirit was familiar with the mannerisms of two Night Furies and knew what the twitching of the appendages meant. The longer he stood there without attacking, the higher the ice appendages rose.

“It’s okay. I just want to make sure they’re alright. I’m not going to hurt them,” Jack spoke slowly and calmly as possible, releasing the tension in his body as to not show any aggressive behavior. If it was a normal dragon, the Druid would have extended an offered hand, allowing the Creature of Magic to make the final decision to place his trust in him as Hiccup had taught him. However, in this situation, he felt that might be seen as an act of aggression and instead placed both hands in his hoodie’s pocket.

It seemed to do the trick and the ice Night Fury lowered his wings to reveal the two children Jack knew to be there.

“Hello,” Jack grinned cheerfully, drowning out the gasps of surprise coming from the Guardians behind him. The eternal teenager ignored them completely. They were adults with hundreds of years of experience; they could take care of themselves.

The two little ones, on the other hand, appeared terrified out of their minds. Being attacked by Nightmares was one thing. Being attacked by the Guardians of Childhood who were supposed to protect them from the Nightmares? That was beyond wrong and they had every reason to be traumatized. However, just like his Little Lights, they were resilient. They were _Vikings_.

The older sister, despite her own trembling, was doing her best to shield the little blond with her body. One hand on her Night Fury emblazed book and the other held up in defense. Her brother, while standing behind the auburn-haired shieldmaiden, had his small dagger drawn and held between two shaking hands, pointed at the spirit. Moreover, the two were staring at him in awe and if he had to guess, they were seeing him for the first time thanks to the Guardians of Wonder and Hope providing a name for them. Jack was disheartened to see the awe fade back into fear when the children glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the Guardians before darting back to him, emotions once more shifting to what the spirit identified as uncertainty.

“Hey now, there’s nothing to fear.”

“ _They attacked us_ ,” the words—while accusatory—were a soothing balm to Jack’s heart. Norse—Old Norse nowadays—wasn’t something spoken regularly and he thought he’d never hear it again. He hadn’t realized how much hearing it again would affect him, but it had.

Glancing back at the startled and regret filled Guardians, the white-haired teen felt his eyebrow twitch and shook his head, returning to face the children with a smile. “You don’t have to worry; they won’t attack again. If they knew you were here, they wouldn’t have attacked in the first place but your… guards startled them and _I’m sure they didn’t mean it, right_?”

The word gritted out in English had their intended effect and snapped the gapping Guardians out of their stupor. Toothiana was the first to recover and quickly backed away from the ice sculpture she’d been dueling, scimitars pointed towards the ground. The construct, however, remained in a battle-ready position, ice blade raised in defense. It also provided Jack his first real glimpse of the sword. 

A very familiar sword. 

One he’d wielded the day before and failed to recognize at the time. An ice facsimile of Inferno and the hand holding its hilt belonged to the sword’s creator. Another ice sculpture and like the chunks of ice outside of the fissure—and he was right, that had been an arm—he could feel the magic in every molecule of the cold substance, keeping it from melting. 

He also recognized his work.

While the ice of Toothless was not entirely of his own creation—he couldn’t take credit for creating the ice, but he could claim to have shaped the sculpture—the ice construct of Hiccup was all his.

His work also recognized him. 

As the ice version of Hiccup looked towards him, he had a moment of duel vision while he was looking up at the construct while simultaneously peering over at a blue hooded covered individual standing before the children and the ice dragon. His head immediately began to ache and the relic around his neck heated up to a searing degree. Quickly, he cut off the connection he’d unintentionally opened with the construct. It left him feeling drained but the relic was no longer burning and he was no longer seeing through the construct’s eyes.

Slowly, the Viking construct lowered his sword. He didn’t turn his back on the Guardians, but he did back away until he stood to the side of the ice Night Fury.

Letting out a sigh, Toothiana fluttered towards the children. “He’s right, we’d never hurt children. It’s our sworn duty to protect children like you. We are the Guardians of Childhood. I’m Toothiana, the Tooth Fairy.”

The little boy frowned. “ _Guardians of Childhood? Is that some kind of Faerie guild? Which Sidhe Court do the Guardians belong to?_ ”

“ _I don’t think they belong to either the Summer or Winter courts… she doesn’t look like any of the fae I know of... wait, Toothiana? As in the Queen of the Sisterhood of Flight?_ ” the shieldmaiden blinked, eyeing the swords still in the Warrior Queen’s hands. 

The Guardian of Memories tried not to let her smile falter, but Jack noticed the signs and wondered what caused her discomfort. She had never tried to hide her connection to the Sisterhood of Flight when she spoke to him, so that couldn’t be what upset her. Maybe she didn’t like being compared to the faeries of the courts? Or she might have been worried the children were afraid of her weapons. Then again, she made no move to hide the blades either. Whatever the reason, she didn’t allow it to deter her from comforting the Viking children.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry if we scared you, but we promise not to attack you again as long as your… guards … don’t attack us,” Toothiana continued with a strained smile. Glancing over at the ice sculpture she’d been battling now standing at the ice dragon’s wingtip. The Tooth Fairy jumped a bit when the sword of the construct slammed down, digging into the ground.

“Rimsky-Korsakov. There is no need for that, we have said our sorrys…” North trailed off, eyeing the construct that glared defiantly at him. “I am talking to ice as if it were a real person.”

“Mate, if it makes you feel better, it’s responding as if it were alive,” Bunny pointed out, nails beating out a tattoo against the boomerang clenched in his paw. 

“I do not know what to make of it. Even Dijinni Robot is not as sophisticated as this ice automaton,” the Guardian of Wonder sheathed his blades, fingers clearly twitching to get his hands on the sculpture but with how hostile the Viking construct appeared, he didn’t dare try. 

Bunny—nails now digging into the wood of his boomerangs—made a conscious effort to loosen his hold but emerald green eyes refused to turn from the ice sculptures. “Frostbite, you’re the Spirit of Winter, what do you think of them?”

The children choked on air at the mention of a winter spirit, two pair of disbelieving eyes staring at the Pooka as if he were nuts. 

“ _There is no Spirit of Winter_ ,” the blonde boy muttered, looking from Bunny to the spirit and a glimmer of doubt crossed his features. Though, when lush green eyes met the blue of his sister’s gaze—who shook her head negatively—all doubt fled.

Jack couldn’t keep his eyes from rolling from within the shadows of his hood, resigned that children he never met before knew more about him than the Guardians did. “First of all, Kangaroo, I am not the _Spirit of Winter_. I am currently a spirit, yes, and I do have strong ties to ice and snow, but that does not make me the Spirit of Winter. And before you go saying there are spirits for the other seasons, I’m going to stop you right there. There are spirits _associated_ with the seasons, but there is no Spirit of Spring or Spirit of Fall or whatnot. As for the ice constructs,” the white-haired spirit trailed off, glacier blue eyes studying the two constructs and weighing his words. “They’re _more_ than ice.”

“What means ‘ _more’_?” North asked, only to scrunch up his nose realizing how wrong the question came out. Regardless of how grammatically wrong the question came out, Jack knew what the Guardian of Wonder was trying to ask. He just didn’t know how to explain it in words they’d understand.

“Look, I can make ice easy—” Jack flicked his fingers, creating a snowflake of ice—a replica of a beloved silver trinket lost to time—that had the children perking up in interest, watching as he rolled it across his knuckles as if it were a coin “—but it’s just that, _ice_. If, I add a bit more power, I can transform it—" here, he pushed the flake up into the air where it hovered, shifting forms as solid plates formed, followed by hollow prisms, then to thin plates, before cycling back, running through a kaleidoscope of different snowflake shapes and then, for the hell of it, he broke apart the crystal structure and created a tiny replica the Night Fury down to his red tail fin. “—but it is still inanimate _ice_. Just like North’s prototype toy sculptures. He’s—” the eternal teenager pointed to the dragon “—been _animated_.”

Sandy nodded his head, making a giant exclamation mark over his head followed by an array of symbols the eternal teen wasn’t familiar with.

“Sandy’s right, the Golden Ages had lots of spells to animate objects, there are even a few from Atlantis which survived its sinking that are housed in Ombric library, Frostbite. No need to scare us with this _more_ bit.”

“Bunnymund,” the use of his name stopped the Easter Bunny from brushing off his explanation. “Those spells you speak of would be best explaining him—” this time Jack pointed to the icy Viking “—but when I say animated, I mean, he—” once again, the white-haired teen jabbed a thumb in the ice dragon’s direction, “—is _alive_.”

Now that got all of their attention and various forms of ‘That’s not possible!’ bombarded him from all sides.

“I know that! It goes against the Balance of Life and Death! But there’s no denying he is alive. Trust me, I know ice—” not to mention his unintentional possession of the ice construct because there was no doubt in his mind that his earlier ‘dream’ wasn’t a dream at all but him possessing the ice which was _his_. The unintentional possession also gave him the unique perspective and understanding of the mass of magics harbored within every frozen molecule and how it felt different than that of his dragon counterpart. “—and he is nothing like the automatons you’re thinking of. The best I can figure, he’s a Velveteen Rabbit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, _Frostbite_?”

Frustration at a whole new level coursed through the spirit, fingers digging into locks of white hair to keep the impending outburst at bay. “You know what a poltergeist is, right?”

“Da, I heard of the noisy ghosts,” North jollily provided, earning a groan from the eternal spirit.

“No, not the literal German translation,” Jack shook his head, frown marring his face as he tried to explain it in a way the Guardians would understand. “We can all agree, Nightmare Men are a real thing, right?”

“Yeah,” Toothiana voiced for the Sandman’s subdued nods.

“And from your own explanation, they are the accumulation of the frights and fears of tens of thousands of beings from the Golden Age given physical form, correct?”

More nods.

“Great, now thinking along those lines, imagine if you will, some kind of extraordinary event takes place, something so great that it changes the very flow of energy. Most of the time, the energies dissipate into nothing. But there are times when that energy builds, feeding off of its environment and people. The stronger it becomes, the more people become aware of it and a tipping point is reached because just like Nightmare Men are created by tens of thousands of people from the Golden Ages, the idea humans imprint upon the energy—be it fear or surety, trepidation or calmness—creates sentience.

“When the linking events are traumatic—the loss of a child, mass genocide, wars—people tend to think the worst and their impression is imprinted, creating nasty things of great power like poltergeists or wraiths, things that were never alive traditionally but have been brought into this world by our imaginations and fears. Yet, the opposite is true too. Through acts of valor and heroism, tutelary spirits are formed and while they are sentient, they are not alive. However, in extremely rare circumstances, those spirits are granted a life of their own through the lingering belief and devotion of others.

“These were made to stand guard—” he should know, he was the one to reshape Drago’s Bewilderbeast’s ice with the thought of purging the destruction from Berk and restructuring the rime as a reminder of their resilience and the protection of the dragons—and Hiccup—provided the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. “—but they're _more_. The dragon is alive, I can feel a heartbeat coming from within the ice and, if I had to guess, because of the sheer belief and love countless of people—”

Jack didn’t have to imagine multiple generations of Vikings honoring the statues. He’d seen their devotion firsthand. He’d even given Stoick, as the Chief of Berk, a tribute of meat when he was still new to the tribe and while Stoick had made a name for himself, his son’s far outstripped him. Hiccup and Toothless were already famous for bridging the gap between Viking and dragons and conquering the Red Death before Jackson’s arrival in the past. They’d only accumulated countless more deeds under their belts by the auburn-haired Viking’s twenty-first year and the gifts and tokens lavished upon the Heir of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe was no small matter.

The eternal teen knew the Night Fury duo would have doubled their accolades by the time Hiccup reached his prime. Jack had no problem envisioning the two growing into a legend and the Hooligans—not to mention the numerous people’s lives the original Dragon Riders had touched—would lavishing their likeness with offerings long after they were gone. From simple words to whole feasts, from trinkets of little worth to priceless treasures, and with each offering came a fragment of the admirers’ magic. A small shard that lingered on, intertwining with the seeds Jack Frost had created upon shaping the icons. 

“—he become as real as the Velveteen Rabbit did in Margery Williams’ book,” Jack finished his explanation, hoping it made sense.

“Oh,” Toothiana fluttered, looking at the ice dragon in a new light. “He is like my fairies. He has to be a few hundred years old, at least.”

The giant golden question mark shown even brighter as the Dreamsand shifted in bewilderment.

“Huh?”

“What say you, Tooth?”

“What does that have to do with your fairies?”

Pink eyes shifted from the uncertain spirit to the downright perplexed Guardians. “That’s right, Sweet Tooth, you weren’t around when I originally separated myself using the power of a Relic from the Golden Ages to create my fairies.”

“ _You separated yourself? You_ really _are the Warrior Queen of the Sisterhood of Flight, aren’t you?_ ” the little Viking—and really, Jack needed to get both of their names soon—inhaled a sharp gasp of horror. Not that the spirit was any better, just thinking about the pain he’d gone through when merging with his mortal body was terrible enough of a memory. He’d hate to think of the pain Toothiana must have gone through to divide herself into two, let alone the thousands of fairies she had.

“Now though, I couldn’t absorb them back into myself even if it tried,” the Tooth Fairy continued as if she hadn’t heard the little boy. “After centuries of accumulated belief and love of their own from myself and the children of the world, my little fairies have been given a life not of my own. They are no longer a part of me, if anything, I would say they are my daughters,” Toothiana hummed, indulging in the cuddles Baby Tooth and a few of her siblings lavished onto their mother.

The little golden heart above Sandy’s head earned the Guardian of Dreams a loving smile from the woman.

“That’s all well and good, but what are we going to do with them? All of them?” Bunny made a waving gestured at the Viking children and the ice constructs.

Jack narrowed his eyes at the blatant disregard of the children, treating them as they were nonentities when they were standing in the room. “Well, we could, ya know, be polite and finish introducing ourselves to them and stop treating them as if they weren’t standing right here.”

Really, the spirit should have expected the terse reply. All the signs were there and he had been paying attention. As it was, his mind was drawn in too many different directions trying to make sense of the mess his life—his afterlife?—was heading in that he failed to make the connection. As a result, Bunny’s answer came as a shock to both the Viking children and himself.

“What bloody good would that do when we don’t speak the same language?”


	10. —With the Future—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret_Wind: I am quite heartened to hear that the way I describe the mythology and magic is easy to understand. I really don't want to shove facts and information down peoples throat, but I don't want readers to be left confused with vague descriptions. 
> 
> Theris_Statera: Thank you for your kind review! Hopefully this chapter is just as intriguing with more of what has become of Berk shinning through (thought not too much, I do have to leave some surprised for the future).
> 
> Swirlzie: Your appreciation for my headcannon of Jack's little nuances thrills me to pieces because I work hard to scatter character quirks throughout my writing that sometimes I feel they are overlooked (though, never too long overlooked by the Sleepless Squad, you guys take too much pleasure in reading each word and figuring out the foreshadowing before the reveal). I'm sorry the battle scene was a bit confusing, hopefully it made sense with a few more (less frantic) reads, but yes, North did flatten our poor snowflake to the point he had swirlie eyes (sorry, couldn't help the pun).
> 
> FabLlama02: Of course Jack wants to breakdown upon seeing Hiccup, even if it is only an ice sculpture of him, but he is *not* going to do so when there are frighten children about with the only other people being about are the Guardians of Childhood. Who else is going to take care of the kids? Certainly not the Big Four, so Jack has to keep it together for them.
> 
> Madcap_Miss: That the last chapter received very high praise from *The* Madcap_Miss, I can now forgo the hate of my love-hate relationship with the last chapter and just go with love. As for the fae, while for the most part they do live in the NeverNever because humans have overrun their lands to build big cities, I can't see them *not* having little enclaves throughout the world. And it would seem you picked up on the fact they were Summer fae *sips tea*. Dear me, I am a little too proud at the not at all unreasonable response to North's comment about 'An ice sculpture worthy of me' because that was what I was aiming for.
> 
> Sleepless Squad in General: Yes, yes there was a lot of catharsis written in the chapter about the Big Four and their actions in RotG in general. We all know how salty I feel about them despite loving the movie, there were just a few things that need to be *said*. That being said, it wasn't *all* spilled out in the last chapter.

The Guardians of Childhood were cowards. At least the Big Four were when it came to children, which was ironic since they were the Guardians of _Child_ hood. Jack would— _could_ —never forget North’s infamous speech from Easter`12 regarding how the Big Four were very busy bringing joy to children that they didn’t have time for said children as Sophie ran amok around the Warren. He would have thought, after the whole Belief Blackout incident that they would have sought to make time for the children they protected. 

_Nope._

That was _not_ the case. 

Somehow, and without his knowledge, it was deemed the Big Four was in charge of figuring out where the children came from in order to return them home via snow globe—or tunnel as Bunny so adamantly grumbled—while the children were left with the Guardian of Fun. Jack didn’t mind watching over the little Vikings, but he was exhausted. The earlier outburst of magic drained what was left of his reservoir. All he wanted to do was go back to the Crystal Cave, cuddle up with Nightless, and _sleep_. Yet, there would be no sleep for him and he had a long way to go before he could rest. Now more than ever he was determined to find the location of the Barbaric Archipelago. If only so, he could return not only Nightless to her home but the Viking children as well.

First thing first, Jack needed to get the agitated Viking children to relax. Which was why he’d pilfered a couple of snow globes from North’s coat as the Big Four sat around the Warren’s gathering table to figure out their newest problem. Really, it only took a few of the Dewdrop Faeries and a distraction from Baby Tooth and his hoodie pocket was bulging with snow globes. North was none the wiser since his coat pockets were still brimming with the things. How many the Guardian of Wonder kept on him was astonishing, if a little overkill. It was no wonder he didn’t realize he’d lost the one Sophie found until much too late.

“Alright, it looks like we’re a bit early,” Jack took in the empty clearing, noting that his pond was frosted over and there was some snow on the tree limbs. “But that’s okay, we can get to know one another in the meantime.”

The siblings just looked up at him incredulously. Yeah, maybe he should have told them he understood Old Norse and knew they understood English. But where would be the fun in that?

“I know we got off on the wrong foot what with the other Guardians attacking your guards, but you can’t blame them? Having to face an angry Night Fury—even an ice one at that—would terrify many of people no matter how fearsome of warriors they are,” Jack waved to the two constructs that followed them through the portal. Though, he had to hide the wince at the sight of the disfigured construct with a smile so big he had to close his eyes. He’d have to take a look at the icy Viking and see if there was anything he could do to fix him later. “I’d bet if they were faced with a real Night Fury, they’d run away screaming!”

The spirit’s smile turned into a genuine grin as the little boy giggled, tugging at one of his sister’s arm warmers and grinning up at her. “ _Oh, can you imagine if they were facing the real Dragonlord and Alpha?”_

“ _They wouldn’t’ve stood a chance,_ ” the shieldmaiden gave a strained smile for her brother’s sake, clutching the book at her side tighter.

“Well, Toothiana might be too distracted by the Night Fury’s retractable teeth that she might forget to run away,” Jack continued rambling on, eyes trailing away from the children and towards the Tree of Sorrow where the limbs seem to sway and reach out for him as if to offer comfort. “The first time I met her, she stuck her fingers in my mouth to look at my teeth to see if they were really as white as snow. I wasn’t sure how to react and biting her fingers didn’t seem like a good idea, so I just let her. Maybe a Night Fury would do the same.”

The blond giggled louder, tugging harder at his sister’s arm warmer. “ _I like him, he’s funny._ ”

A frown crossed the auburn-haired girl’s face as she discreetly glanced up at the hooded spirit. “ _We don’t even know who he is._ ”

“JACK!” their timing couldn’t be more perfect.

The Seven Brightest Lights, in a variety of brightly colored jackets, came rushing in to the clearing. “Hey Kiddos, what are you up to on this fine day?”

“Searching for a little winter,” Jamie threw himself at the spirit, who easily caught the boy and spun them both around before setting the brunet down. Promptly, Jamie turned around, pumping his fist in the air. “I win!”

“Win?”

“I found you first,” the boy answered, smiling at Jack as the other Little Lights protested his victory.

“Naw-uh, I saw him first!” Cupcake shoved Jamie when he stuck his tongue out at her.

A light tug at his hoodie had blue eyes tearing away from the bickering duo and to the tiny slip of a blonde, who held her arms up. Jack obliged and swept Sophie up for a bear hug. The girl snuggled in his arms, burying her head into his shoulder while wrapping arms encased in puffy pink fabric around his neck

“Awe, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“There’s some funny dressed kids behind you,” the little blonde clung tighter, peaking over his shoulder to look at the two siblings.

Jack chuckled, mirth filling his eyes at the innocent comment that was true both ways. The Viking children probably thought the Seven Brightest Lights were the ones dressed strangely and not the other way around. Then again, this level of cold was like a balmy fall day for them whereas the Burgess children wear wrapped up in what must have seemed to be their Devastating Winter gear to the Vikings. 

“I know,” the eternal teenager nodded.

“Oh, can they see you?” Sophie pulled back to look into blue eyes, tilting her head to glance passed him and at the two behind him.

“ _What kind of question is that_?” the blond boy blinked, looking to his sister for an answer. The auburn-haired shieldmaiden just shrugged, shaking her head negatively.

“A valid one,” Jack replied, setting the blonde down, ruffling her hair affectionately. She just looked up at him in confusion. “Of course, they can see me. Do you want to meet them? I can introduce you if you want.”

“Okay!” Sophie chirped, beaming brightly.

“ _How’s he expecting to do that when he can’t even understand us?_ ” the Viking girl murmured, eyes fixed on the group of squabbling children _._ Glacier blue orbs glanced back and found a scene that wasn’t uncommon on Berk and probably familiar to the Viking children. After all, the Hairy Hooligan Tribe had a lot of squabbles—they _were_ Vikings—and Jamie and Cupcake, who’d been joined by Claude and Caleb at some point, were busy wrestling on the ground with one another, very similar to how Terrorithi, Snuffnut, and Gustav had done on numerous occasions. Pippa and Monty, on the other hand, were standing to the side in no hurry to break up the match.

“Great, let’s go say _heill_ to the Viking children and maybe finally wriggle some names out of them,” Jack grinned, hearing the sharp intake of breath coming from the smallest of the two. 

Turning to face the children, the eternal teenager found the little boy staring up at him, green eyes filled with wonder. Ah, so it would seem that one of them was catching on. Maybe he should have purposefully mispronounced the Norse greeting.

“ _Zephyr_ ,” the blond insistently tugged at his sister’s arm, eyes never leaving Jack as his smile grew.

“Zephyr, what a pretty name,” Jack complimented with a smile, kneeling down so he was in front of the two Vikings as the gentle wind swirled. “The West Wind. You know, my mother _K_ _ári_ —”

“— _Kári, the God of the North Wind,_ ” the blond stopped, face scrunched up in confusion. _“Wait…mother? But_ God _of the North Wind._ ”

“ _I can assure you, Kári was by no means my father, she was my mother_ ,” the spirit chuckled as the winds picked up around them, swirling in laughter.

“ _You can speak Norse!”_ the shieldmaiden cried out in shock, finally finding her voice after opening and closing her mouth uselessly when Jack switched languages _. “You can understand us!”_

“ _So I can,_ and you can understand me too _,”_ Jack grinned mischievously as he switched languages, tilting his head to the side. Between the motion and the still chortling winds, his hood was at last knocked off. The winds immediately ruffled the snow-white locks before settling down in a soft breeze.

“ _You’re Jökul Frosti!”_

Jack didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure _how_ to respond. It never occurred to him he would be addressed as such. After all, Jackson Overland crafted stories of Jökul Frosti, basing him off of Jack Frost’s three-hundred years before he’d become a Guardian. Just with a little more Druid and Viking elements to keep the children of Berk entertained. He never thought of himself as such, but in a roundabout way, it was true. Jökul Frosti was Jack Frost and since Jack Frost was Jackson Overland that made Jackson Overland Jökul Frosti too. 

“ _So I am,”_ Jack concluded with a nonchalant shrug, but with those three little words, something inside of him shifted. He couldn’t quite describe it. The feeling was just there. It was almost as if a part of himself hadn’t been in alignment with the rest of him and he was none the wiser until the instant when his whole spirit shifted and snapped back together. Yet, despite the paradigm shift, Jack was acutely aware that he still felt _off._ Not that he could figure out why. If it had something to do with the draconic magic flowing through him or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. He just knew that he felt better but worse at the same time.

None of which affected the bright smile plastered across his face as he encouraged the two Viking children to open up to him. _“And now that we all know who I am, would you care to return the favor?_ ”

“ _I’m Nuffink,”_ the blond boy puffed out his chest proudly _, “and this is my sister Zephyr. We’re of House—”_

Whatever Nuffink was going to say, was cut off as Zephyr quickly covered his mouth with her hand, “ _Nuffink! Shh, you know we shouldn’t tell anyone our House. Especially when we don’t know where we are or who_ they _are._ ”

“ _But Zephyr! He’s_ Jökul Frosti _!_ ”

“ _We don’t know that for sure! He never introduced himself._ You _called him Jökul Frosti first and he hesitated before agreeing with you,”_ Zephyr hissed lowly, most likely intending for only her brother to hear but she was too worked up and Jack could hear every word without the winds’ help. _“How are you so sure he’s Jökul Frosti? He was with those so-called Guardians and you know as well as I that the rabbit looking one and the one claiming to be Toothiana looked a lot like those things that attacked us. How do we know this isn’t a setup to get us to trust him? To trust them? They could be the one behind all the attacks for all we know.”_

_“How can_ you _doubt he is not Jökul Frosti? You saw him create that ice! He saved us!_ ” Nuffink argued back, by no means attempting to conceal their argument as his sister had.

Blue eyes glared at her brother, glancing over at Jack briefly, before turning away when their eyes locked. “ _If he’s Jökul Frosti then_ where _has he been?_ ”

Nuffink opened and quickly shut his mouth, worrying at his lip. “ _I don’t know…but…but…but the stories! They—the stories!—they say the_ Eternal Storm _was created in the wake of_ _Jökul Frosti learning his_ _harbinger_ _was killed, his wrath covering the lands in blankets of snow! But, a storm of such power, such magnitude—”_ and here, it sounded like the blond was quoting someone because those words were definitely not the little boy’s own “ _—took too much out of him, and…and…and that Jökul Frosti slumbers until a time when a new harbinger calls him._ _And he did! You summoned him and the PermaFrosti Sentinels—the Dragonlord and the Alpha at that!—responded, they brought us to him!”_

_“Then why is he_ here _?! Why isn’t he in the Barbaric Archipelago? If he’s truly_ Jökul Frosti, _why did he abandon us for this place?_ ” tears pricked the corner of blue eyes as they glared at Jack the best they could while trying not to let a single tear fall. 

Jack wasn’t exactly sure what they were talking about— _Eternal Storm_? What?—but he got the gist of it. Their tribe was being attacked and Zephyr thought Jökul Frosti had abandoned the Barbaric Archipelago. She thought _he’d_ abandoned them for this strange place they now found themselves in.

“Jack,” Jamie asked, holding one of Sophie’s hands as the little girl clung to both him and Pippa, eyes glancing between the strained smile on her favorite Guardian’s face to the Viking children that caused it. “What’s going on?”

The sight of the remnants of his family had the gears in his brain turning, bringing a new—softer—smile to his face. “I brought some friends for you to meet. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“ _Friends_? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure, now go on, introduce yourself.”

The lingering frown indicated that Jamie wasn’t convinced, but he went ahead anyways. “I’m—”

“Formally.”

“Formally, what do you mean, formally?” the brunet squawked, the frown finally falling as he stared at Jack a gasped.

Pippa rolled her eyes and took over. “Ignore my cousin, he has little manners—”

“HEY!”

“—Greetings, my name is Pippa Annis Bjorgman. As the Regent Heir of the Taliesin Clan, I welcome you to Burgess,” here, Pippa bowed slightly to the Viking children, missing Zephyr’s sudden rigid posture and Nuffink’s mouth falling open.

“Formally, right, got it,” Jamie hummed, finally catching on as a sheepish look crossing his face. “Hi, I’m James Percival Bennett. Soon-to-be Head Priest of the Guard sect of the Taliesin Clan.” A raised white eyebrow had the young Bennett rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, missing the strangled sound emanating from the newcomers. “After I get approval from the Head of the Clan, which will only happen when I’m much— _much_ —older because he is a stickler for children being children for as long as they can," he tacked on, earning him a chuckle and a nod of approval.

“Imma Sophie, Jamie’s my big brother. And Jack says I can be whatever I want to, so I’m gonna be the next High Priestess and—and a Seer too!” Sophie happily grinned.

Monty awkwardly waved from where he stood at Pippa’s shoulder. “Hello, I am Montgomery Weston, please call me Monty. Though the rest of us do not have immediate blood ties to the Taliesin line—though, I am sure with enough research, we could find a distant connection—we too are affiliated with the clan. As such, I hope to honor the clan’s name by becoming proficient in charms.”

“Hey, the name’s Claude Williams. Future herbologist of my honorary clan,” the boy bowed, only for his brother to step in front of him, blocking him from view.

“I am Claude’s older—cooler—twin brother, Caleb. I specialize in transfiguration,” Caleb barely finished his introduction before Claude elbowed him out of the way.

Rolling her eyes, Cupcake stepped forward to draw attention away from the bickering twins. “Pleasure to meet you, call me Cupcake. I am studying to be a magizoologist.”

“And these are Zephyr and Nuffink. Either of the House Hofferson or House Haddock. I’m not sure which, they won’t tell me,” Jack spoke for the speechless siblings. “They dropped into Bunny’s Warren accidentally and I have been put in charge of looking after them as the Big Four try to find them a way home.”

“Really? Cool,” the twins beamed.

“House Hofferson? Like in Astrid Hofferson?” Jamie asked, staring at the shieldmaiden with stars in his eyes. Blue eyes widened at the comment before a slight flush appeared across the auburn-haired girl’s fair features upon noticing the brunet’s intense gaze, making the freckles on her face stand out that much more.

“Haddock? As in Hiccup Haddock?” Pippa piped up at the exact same time as her cousin. 

“Look! Toothless,” Sophie squealed, pointing to Nuffink’s belt buckle who grinned broadly and nodded his head.

“ _How_ _do outsiders know the Lady Valkyrie’s name? Or the Dragonlord and Alpha’s names for that matter?_ How are you apart of the Taliesin Clan?” Zephyr blurted out the last question in English. Though her words were laced with a distinct accent not from the United States but even then, it was hard to pick up on their country of origin.

The Seven Lights shared a perplexed look, trading frowns and shrugs before Pippa perked up. “Oh, you’re asking us what branch of the Taliesin Clan we’re from, right? Because the main branch disappeared during the Great Purges?”

Slowly, the anxious shieldmaiden nodded her head. 

“That’s easy, we can trace our roots back to the first Overlands born in North America over three hundred years ago. Well, second,” Jamie glanced over at Jack with a crooked smile. 

“ _Overland?_ ” Zephyr squeaked, looking from Jamie back towards Jack. “You—you’re _…you really are Jökul Frosti_.”

A spark of belief ignited and far away, in the Globe Room on the North Pole, the Globe of Belief flared brighter than it ever had before, all from the same area located near the Norwegian Sea where no landmass was indicated. Then, just as quickly as the light had come, it was smothered with only a few elves to bear witness. Only two new lights, two new believers, remained in the Burgess area but these lights weren’t for any of the Guardians of Childhood. No, these were the lights belonging to _Jökul Frosti._

* * *

Nuffink took pride in the fact he could trace his lineage back to their roots on the Isle of Berk to Hiccup Haddock. He had the same blood as some of the greatest—if not _the_ greatest—chieftains of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe ever running through his veins. He knew Zephyr felt the same pride in their ancestors as he did. Yet, where he admired the great chieftains, she was more inclined to their ancestors more subtle ubiquitous connection they shared with magic. It was that part of their ancestry she wanted to honor and Nuffink would never forget the day when his sister marched right into the crowded council meeting, right up to the chief—their father—and without much fanfare, told them point blank she wanted to study magic.

Zephyr insisted that she be taught magic as she was of the Haddock line and House Haddock was at their roots, descendants of gods and there was magic in her veins. At least, that was the consensus of the rumors and stories surrounding the famous Haddock line. Though, as far as Nuffink knew, no one knew which of the gods—or goddess—sired the line and it was highly debated upon topic when the mead was flowing. Even without a name to link their House to divinity, it was enough to convince the council that she should be taught the magical arts and his brave sister had left with her head held high. Only, much later did she confide in him the real reason she wanted to learn magic.

The truth of the matter was that she didn’t want to dishonor their ancestors. Zephyr wanted to live up to the Haddock name—to their _father’s name_ —but very few things could compare to the feats and accomplishments of their ancestors. No, his sister wouldn’t settle for something small and mundane to strive for. By her reasoning, the only way she could live up to the Haddock name would be to do the impossible. To end the torrent that plagued the seas; to end the _Eternal Storm_. An end, as the whispered rumors foretold, which was only possible if one were to find and awaken the slumbering Jökul Frosti. That was the goal Zephyr reached for, her life’s ambition and a lofty one at that. 

Nuffink didn’t want to discourage his much-beloved sister from her self-appointed mission yet he couldn’t say he liked the changes that came about with her goal. As the _Eternal Storm_ continued to drift across the archipelago in its leisured, thunderous rage, so did Zephyr, drifting away from him and forever in a mood. She no longer had time for any fun and games they’d so often indulged in together. Instead, he often found the dark-haired shieldmaiden engrossed in her studies. Zephyr put an awful lot of pressure on herself and he was beginning to fear she would no longer have any time for him. In fact, the last few times he invited her to come to storytime with him, she declined. 

Then the attacks began and things got worse.

No one knew what they were. Black creatures that preyed upon humans and creatures alike. They came with the night and left as the sun rose. At first, those who saw the monsters were discredited, healers believing them to have succumbed to the Midday Moon Madness during the two weeks of perpetual night. That was before the bodies started piling up and as time wore on, more and more people came forth with tales of wispy creatures that attacked them with wounds to back up their story and the lack of a Midday Moon to blame the madness on. 

That was just the tip of the iceberg.

New whispers reached their island almost a full moon cycle to the day of the confirmation of the monsters’ existence. News of great relevance. News of a strange boy who had washed up on the shores of Loki Island one day with only a name an no other memories. Yet, his magic was unlike anything ever seen. Magic that destroys the monsters where many others had fallen short. There were even rumors that he might put an end to the _Eternal Storm_. Rumors that left Zephyr enraged but the sweet smile that then spread across her face told him she had a plan.

So, Nuffink had followed her and when she’d snuck off their longboat and into the night the day after the mysterious foreign boy step foot on the island. It was just their luck that that was the night whatever barrier that kept Berk protected fell and they were attacked by the very creatures that plagued the archipelago. The next thing he knew, they were far from home, flying on the Alpha PermaFrosti Sentinel with the Dragonlord Sentinel to guide them. Sentinels that were up until that point seen as fragments of a battle long since passed and nothing more.

The adventure afterwards was not something Nuffink would care to repeat. But he wouldn’t change it. Not now, not after finding Jökul Frosti _and_ the remnants of a revered clan long since dead. After all, it was them—Zephyr and Nuffink—that found _Jökul Frosti,_ not the rising star Jacksin Talsin, the so-called second coming of the Harbinger of Winter.

* * *

Zephyr watched in wonder as Jökul Frosti— _Jökul Frosti!_ —sat with the Dragonlord Sentinel facing him, shattered arm held out as nimble fingers skirted across the jagged edges. Next to him, the Alpha PermaFrosti Sentinel sat between the two, eyes watching as feathery light brushes left behind frosting fern patterns in their wake. She could see the new bluish ice crystals seeping into the cracks, finding its way into the very center of the construct. There were no spells or rituals, not even words or the telltale flare of power in his eyes. Just simple strokes across jagged shards and frost danced to the youthful god’s whims. If she had any lingering doubts if he was truly who he claimed to be, they were fading in the presence of his magic.

“Can you fix him?” Jamie broke the silence the group of children had fallen into when Jökul had told them to go play while he worked. Needless to say, the other children had been fascinated—not unlike herself—by the PermaFrosti Sentinels and chose to sit around to watch him.

The white-haired god laughed. “Patience.”

Zephyr chewed at the bottom of her lip, watching with bated breath. She stared unblinking as Jökul’s fingers continued to dance across ice, each time new frost pulsing over the shattered stump, sinking further into the broken body before disappearing from sight. With each repetition and no outwardly changes, her mind began to whirl with suspicion. Grabbing her book, she pulled it into her lap and placed her hand over the Night Fury's head silhouette. 

“ _Aliese_ ,” the opening spell flowed across her lips as water flowed through a river, the simple spell second nature to her. There were no other outwardly signs of the magic other than the previously sealed cover giving away easily as she hastily flipped through the book. She knew very well there wasn’t anything about the Dragonlord or his ice counterpart inside its pages but she did vaguely remember there was something about dragons and ice located somewhere within. It wasn’t a section she’d read that much into, only skimming the pages before moving on. There were actually a few ice-related dragons, but one entry had her eyes widening. “The King of Dragons.”

“Whatcha got there?” the brawny girl asked and it took her a moment to remember the other girl’s name was Cupcake. By the time Zephyr remembered, the bigger brunet had inched closer to get a better look at the sketches surrounded by Nordic runes and she had to curb her kneejerk reaction to slam the book closed. “It’s a book of magic.”

“Like a spellbook?” Caleb—or was this one Claude?—eagerly leaned forward on to his hands and knees, not at all concerned by his gloves absorbing the snow as he unintentionally left the blanket Jökul Frosti had pulled out from the hollow of an oak tree for them to sit on.

“It does have a few spells, but it’s mainly an encyclopedia of all Creatures of Magic in our homeland and a very precious artifact,” Zephyr explained, seriously tempted to tell the gathering group to back off. 

The words died in her throat as honey brown eyes filled with admiration stared into her soul. “That’s so cool. You must be really good with magic if your tribe entrusted you with such a treasured book.”

“Yeah! Zephyr’s the best at magic, better than Ragnarthi and he comes from a long line of Wise Women,” Nuffink happily boasted to Jamie, who was eager to listen to her little brother.

“I gotta admit, that does sound pretty neat,” Claude—or maybe Caleb?—hummed, nodding his head. “Granny Overland has given Pippa a few texts that have been passed down through the generations, but they’re far from treasured artifacts. A few of them are completely wrong. Or so says Jack and we tend to believe him more since he predates dirt.”

“I may be old, Caleb, but I’m not _that_ old,” a silvery voice scoffed, drawing all eyes back to Jökul Frosti. “Zephyr, please continue. What does _The Book of Dragons_ have to say about Bewilderbeasts?”

Zephyr opened her mouth before audibly clicking it shut. Eyes darting back and forth between her copy of _The Book of Dragons_ —though, now a misnomer seeing how other Creatures of Magic had found their way within the pages, but it had kept its original name—and the god. He knew what it was without having to glance into its depths. On top of that, he knew the name of the dragon that had been extinct since the time of the Dragonlord’s Ascension.

“Oh! I know this!” Nuffink brightened, pulling his knees under him so that he was sitting cross-legged instead of splayed out as he had been. This was something he often did during storytime in his eagerness to hear the legends of their land.

“You do?” the auburn-haired shieldmaiden asked, blinking in confusion. While she knew her brother could access _The Book of Dragons_ , he rarely—if ever—asked to borrow it and she knew he didn’t take it without asking. Everyone knew that it was a bad idea to take things from her without asking first, the traps—both mundane and magical inventions alike—she used to protect her treasures kept people at bay. Especially, after that one incident with Ragnarthi and the netter trap, no magic involved.

Still, that didn’t explain how her brother knew about the Bewilderbeasts when she had not.

“Yeah, the Bewilderbeast is the alpha of all alphas, to which all other dragons bow to, the King of Dragons. The title isn’t given either; it’s earned through combat, vigilance, and power. Though all Bewilderbeasts have the ability to bend other dragons to their will, they can only control dragons apart of their nest. That’s why Muddy could only take control of the dragon from the Dragon Den after Snowy was defeated in combat,” Nuffink iterated, eyes closed as he drew upon the memory from which the knowledge of the dragon stemmed from. Slowly, green eyes opened as the happiness left his voice. “I don’t particularly like that part of the story, it’s sad. Not only does Snowy die but so does the Winter’s Harbinger …uh, your Harbinger, Jökul.”

“Story? What story?” Zephyr asked, brows furrowing together. She didn’t remember hearing such a story, not from any of the many traditional storytimes the tribe held every fortnight. That didn’t mean there wasn’t one. She often tended to have her head buried in a book or one of her projects that she would tune the world out. So, while she was more knowledgeable about a lot of things, she would readily admit her brother far outstripped her when it came to recalling the history of their people, especially through stories. There were some she knew, but Nuffink knew them _all_.

“ _Zephyr!_ How can you forget _The Story?!_ The Story about the _Rise of the Dragonlord and the Fall of Winter’s Harbinger_?” Nuffink looked completely aghast, eyes wide and hands flying everywhere. “The fall of Snowy? The Harbinger of Winter’s sacrifice? The ascension of the Dragonlord and Alpha? How Jökul Frosti took Muddy’s ice and created the PermaFrosti Sentinels from the destruction? Does none of this ring a bell?”

Zephyr bit her bottom lip, rooting through her memories for such a tale and vaguely recalled something that sounded similar. “I remember the tale of the creation of the PermaFrosti Sentinels, Jökul Frosti created them to watch over the Isle of Berk. It was one of his final acts to the village before learning of his harbinger’s death and unleashing the _Eternal Storm_ on the archipelago. Vowing that the storm would rage until such a time the archipelago would atone for such treachery. Only then would he call off the storm and until such time, Jökul Frosti would slumber awaiting his harbinger’s return.”

“Of course you remember the legend of the _Eternal Storm_ but nothing else,” the blond huffed, cheeks puffing out as he wrinkled his nose. A soft chuckle drew the siblings away from their normal bickering and back towards their audience, though they only had eyes for the smiling god whose fingers still danced to a tune only he could hear across the icy stump of the Dragonlord Sentinel. “Zephyr…”

The auburn-haired shieldmaiden needn’t hear her brother’s unasked question, her mind coming up with the same conundrum. “If Jökul Frosti is here and has been awake for some time, then why is the _Eternal Storm_ still raging?”

The siblings looked to the young god for answers who just shrugged. “Sorry kiddos, but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t create any storm before I left the Barbaric Archipelago; I will admit to creating the PermaFrosti Sentinels—as you call them—but no storms. If me being awake is somehow tied to this _Eternal Storm_ —which I highly doubt—then technically, I am not awake.”

The Vikings shared a confused glance with one another over Jökul’s answer, but the oddly dressed children surrounding them were nodding their heads in complete understanding. 

“Jack’s a spirit,” Pippa supplied, noticing their confusion. “He’s alive in the sense he is not dead. Well, not a ghost at least.” Here, her eyes flickered over to Sophie who was nodding along with her cousin which—for reasons unknown to Zephyr—had her letting out a sigh of relief. “Jack’s got a physical form crafted through the Nightlight ritual from Máni's magic and while he does bleed ichor, he doesn’t eat or sleep.”

Zephyr’s brows furrowed together, not knowing what a Nightlight ritual was. “Are you saying that Jökul Frosti there—” she waved to the young god sitting there tending to the ice Dragonlord, “—is an astroprojection with a physical form.”

Jökul’s lips thinned till they were almost invisible but eventually returned to normal. “Close enough. Now that we have that all sorted out, Zephyr, please tell us what you were about to say about the Bewilderbeasts.”

The polite reminder redirected her attention back onto the book and away from the detour the tangent was leading them down.

“Right, umm, well, Nuffink pretty much summed up what _The Book of Dragons_ has on Bewilderbeasts, though there are a few more details. It says here that their dragon fire is actually not a type of flame at all but ice and that they are the closest thing in power to that of god as a dragon could get. If Nuffink is correct and Mudly—" 

“Muddy,” Nuffink hissed out a correction.

“— _Muddy_ did cover Berk in ice—” here she looked to the young god for clarification since he had been present after all.

“He did, I can attest to that,” Jökul nodded for her to continue.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. “—then, it stands to reason that the ice was embedded with draconic magic on a level similar to Jökul Frosti’s magic which is actively fighting and rejecting the ice grafts. Meaning, there is no way for Jökul to heal the Dragonlord Sentinel of his injuries.”

“But Jökul created the PermaFrosti Sentinels! He was able to overpower Muddy’s ice before, why not now?” Nuffink wailed, scared that the icy Dragonlord that had saved his life was going to take his place.

“True,” the white-haired god hummed, somehow calming both herself and her brother with the sound alone. “I was able to bend the draconic ice to my will and reshape it. However, you also have to realize Muddy had just been defeated by Toothless and the conquered dragon's magic was feeble at best. Furthermore, your so-called Alpha Sentinel there, is more than just Muddy’s ice. He is a combination of an ice dragon’s flame, a touch of my magic, and the ambient belief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. Not to mention, he’s a part of Berk. Literally,” Jökul chuckled softly at the last part.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, whoever first called them PermaFrosti Sentinels gave the dragons an apt name—well, other than the icy Dragonlord here who is more of a phantom of my will—the dragons have soil from Berk frozen in them. They _are_ permafrost, so whereas I would not be able to graft a new appendage on to the Alpha Sentinel or any of the other dragons since they are more than just ice, I the opposite is true for icy here.”

“I’m confused,” Claude rubbed his head, lips pursed. “Can you or can’t you fix him?”

“As I said, the PermaFrosti dragons are not mine, but this ice here? This is solely _my_ _ice_ ,” Jökul Frosti gave one last stroke of his fingers before drawing away. Only then did Zephyr notice the buildup of a bluish layer under the icy surface was pulsing. No longer disappearing into the construct’s core, but spreading outwards creating cracks that sounded like a glacier splitting. Just as a glacier would split, sheets of ice fell from the Dragonlord Sentinel as he stood. The sheading ice melted into water as it fell and yet not a single drop reached the ground, crystalizing into snowflakes that danced around the Dragonlord rotating his wrist and flexing his newly constructed fingers. Brushing away the last bits of cracked ice, the icy Viking held out a hand to the young god.


	11. —Creates the Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spyriteVestar: Cliffhanger? Did you say cliffhanger? Hmmm....
> 
> Titania_queen_of_fairys: Of course Jack is the only person in the friend group (cough*Guardians*cough*) that has dealt with younger siblings, the Big Four are too busy for children and it is no surprise he adopts the young Vikings on sight. Though, I think you got it wrong, he's not a mama bear protecting her cubs, he's a nesting dragon protecting his hatchlings. Yeah...about that lost love ice sculpture...*sips tea* Eeeh, I have never heard of the saying "Kært barn har mange navne" but I think that it sounds so cool and fits the Jack/Jackson of this story but I am sorry to say, the comment about the Celestial ritual The Congregation of Dumbledore overshadowed it since I spent a good five minutes laughing. Thank you, I needed that.
> 
> felicianoludwig: Jack is not expecting the Big Four to find the Barbaric Archipelago, they just volunteered themselves for the task and pushed the children off on him. In other words, he's expecting them to fail.
> 
> Secret_Wind: Jacksin Talsin - Um, yes? *sips tea*
> 
> gingerninja88: Yes, Jack needs a good cry, no, he doesn't get it this chapter; no, Jack isn't currently permanently older, yes, he's currently 14 spirit self. (P.S. Thank You for loving Nightless's name, it took me forever to come up with something that wasn't cliché.)
> 
> Madcap_Miss: Silver Star, Silver Star, Silver Star. I have no other words for your review without breaking my only Realm of Silence and releasing spoilers. Gah, why must you encourage me so? (Sending lots of hugs, because that encouragement is my writing fuel when the tea runs dry.)

Jack let out a laugh-filled with joy as the icy Viking construct pulled him up and the excitable Night Fury made of ice bound to his feet, prancing around them giddily. The PermaFrosti Sentinel circled them a few more times, earning him a pat on the head from the frosty Dragonlord when the dragon nudged his newly restored appendage. A thrill rose from the icy Night Fury as he butted his head against his best friend in a gesture that spoke far more than words ever could. It was clear the dragon was relieved the other construct was once more as he should be and in no real danger of reverting to his baser liquid form. As if Jack would allow such a thing to happen, even if they weren’t the real Hiccup and Toothless, he wouldn’t stand to see them parted. 

The spirit could only watch with a glint of fondness in his eyes as the Viking construct nudged the ice dragon towards the children clearly restraining themselves as to not ambush the lot of them. The Night Fury crooned and bound over to Zephyr and Nuffink first, circling the siblings to assure himself no harm had befallen them and when he was satisfied, he threw himself onto the Viking children. The Little Lights knew not to approach but Jack couldn’t help but melt when Zephyr—after a moment of hesitation—walked straight up to Jamie and grabbed his hand. She proceeded to drag him over to the ice dragon where she rearranged his hand in a familiar gesture to the lingering spirit in which the PermaFrosti Sentinel placed his snout in the tiny hand after a glance at the determined little shieldmaiden.

“So cool,” the brunet boy uttered in complete awe.

“Me next! Pwease?” Sophie piped up, which Nuffink gladly assisted her in the same fashion as his sister. Jack melted a little more inside, seeing parts of his past and present interact in a way he never deemed possible. It made his heartbeat in happiness as the little Vikings took turns introducing the rest of the Little Lights to the PermaFrosti Night Fury. He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching as the kids' shriek in laughter as they became the children they deserved to be, losing himself in the moment.

A bump to his shoulder had glacier colored orbs looking up into sad eyes that Jack sorely wished were a brilliant shade of green and he couldn’t hold back his whispered confession. “I miss you Hiccup.”

The construct’s smile turned sad and leaned forward. Jack was fixed to the spot and could do no more than watch as the Viking tucked white locks behind his right ear. Cold fingers lingered a second and he felt the briefest of brushes of icy lips against the shell of his ear.

“ _I miss you too, Elskede_.” Jack couldn’t be sure if it was his wishful thinking or not that he heard those whispered words as the frosty Dragonlord pulled away, but it didn’t keep his heart from beating faster.

“Jack?” Pippa’s voice brought the spirit back to himself, realizing he was staring at the Viking construct just sitting a few feet from him, unmoving.

“What’s up, Princess?” Jack asked, looking towards the little girl just staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” glacier blue eyes snapped down to see his left hand was hazy and a few particles that almost looked like glowing snowflakes were drifting away. He couldn’t stop a fae expletive from slipping through his lips and instantly reached up towards the relic around his neck. His distorted hand immediately snapped back in place when he made contact with the pendant and a hiss of pain was swept away by the winds before it could reach worried little ears.

“It’s nothing Princess, see?” the spirit played it off, displaying his now solid hand for her to inspect.

Pippa didn’t hesitate to grab his hand and turn it every which way as if it could provide her with the answer she sought when Jack would not. It was a good thing she did have a hold on his hand because that alone was what allowed Jack to yank her into his body as a black blur blasted by as the Guardian threw the two of them to the ground. He was already rolling, pulling himself up, and planting himself in front of Pippa in a defensive position as the ice constructs immediately went on the defensive. The Alpha Sentinel shielded the other children using his wings while the Dragonlord put himself before Jack.

Glacier blue eyes hardened as the forest darkened. The shadows growing, reaching outwards despite the sun’s light fading behind a thick haze. Movement at the forest’s edge had Jack’s hand tightening into a fist, ice slowly forming as golden eyes after golden eyes appeared in the darkness. The brightest of which moved closer, detaching themselves from the shadows and the Guardian of Fun wasn’t the least bit surprised to see a Nightmare.

The horse was gaunt and emancipated looking as ever but it was bigger. A lot bigger than the last time Jack had faced off against one. More worryingly was the fact that the other golden eyes taking form beside the Nightmare were not the same shape as their equine leader. They had the same gaunt and emancipated features as the horse, but they were a sick facsimile of Toothiana’s mini fairies and smaller rabid looking Pookas. He recognized them as the monsters that attacked the Viking children.

“ _You’re not one of them_ ,” a hoarse, male voice spoke as a being stepped forth from between the Nightmares, darkness licking at his heels. His appearance had the hoard of Nightmares chomping at the bit but a single raised hand held them at bay.

Jack felt his breath leave him as the hair on the back of his neck rose at the sight of those blazing golden eyes peering out from underneath a hooded cloak. Those were the eyes of the King of Nightmare but the figure before was _not_ Pitch Black. He wasn’t tall enough to be the Boogeyman, that was for sure, but the heavy cloak the being wore covered most of his body, obscuring all defining features save for those blazing golden orbs that peered out from the darkness.

“ _Tell me, child, where are we?_ ” the man stepped forward, eyes fixed on Pippa. The Guardian of Fun didn’t dare move as the girl press herself further into his back, but knew it did nothing to hide her from the shadow man’s gaze. Something about the action had the golden eyes pausing as he truly looked at her before scanning his surroundings, only to stop on the PermaFrosti Sentinel. “A _PermaFrosti Sentinel? I don’t remember any PermaFrosti Sentinels posed as such. Where on Berk are we_?”

Movement behind the frozen Night Fury had a wide, sharp smile appearing across the otherwise hidden face. “ _No matter, it seems I have found what I’ve been searching for._ ”

The shadow man held up a pale hand and with a gesture of two of his fingers, the silence of the night creased.

Time seemed to slow down and converge as several things happened at once. A blast of plasma skirted above Jack’s head and slammed into the surging hoard, obliterating all Nightmares in the blast’s range. A portal opening from the other side of Nevernever snapped close as a trio of familiar hunters came through with weapons held at the ready. However, the Guardian of Fun was one step ahead of them, already spinning on his foot, a jagged javelin of ice he didn’t even remember creating slipped through his fingers and tore through Eir’s prosthetic arm. 

He didn’t know if it was from the force of the impact or his ice jamming something important in the multi-functional prosthesis, but whatever it was, it caused the girl to lose her hold and stumble to the ground. Despite her invisible state, the eternal teen caught a glimmer of the distortion in the air right before Nightless barreled into the second Dragon Hunter and threw the last to the side with a whip of her tail. In that moment, Jack was not only grateful that she’d disobeyed him by following him but that he hadn’t called her out on it either when he first noticed her presence.

Although she’d done an excellent job in concealing herself away from the rest of the world, she hadn’t quite managed to hide her presence from him. His choice to head to the Warren on foot rather than having the winds carry him there was influenced by the sounds she could not hide and the few times where she’d unintentionally brushed up against the eternal teen gave her away. Without him steadily keeping an eye on her up in the Tree of Sorrows, he would have never been aware of the portal opening and would have taken by surprise, as the shadow man was at the hunters’ sudden appearance.

“ _What in the name of the gods_?” Eir growled out, pulling herself into an upright position using her staff as support. Enraged eyes darted from the motionless PermaFrosti Sentinel, skipping straight over Jack, to the icy Viking where a frown overtook her face. The Dragon Hunter’s eyes lingered for the most minuscule of a second over his shoulder where the spirit stayed crouched down, before snapping to the shadow man and the Nightmare hoard. 

“ _What are you doing here, witch?_ ”

“ _I’m no Witch, I am an Alchemist, you best remember who your betters are,”_ the shieldmaiden hissed back, causing the Nightmares to bristle and black sand glimmered as a wave rippled through the hoard. 

The reply had the shadow man raving mad. “ _Betters? You are_ not _my better!”_

_“Remind me again who G appointed the honor of capturing the Fury?_ ”

_“And yet, nothing but failure has become of it. Which is why I was forced to step in to flush the dragon out with the hoard and I would have succeeded too if these children hadn’t interfered,_ ” A wave of his hand towards the direction of where Zephyr and Jamie were peeking out from behind the protection of the PermaFrosti Night Fury’s wing had the shieldmaiden motionless with rage. _“I was forced to abandon my search to eliminate the witnesses.”_

The insinuation had Jack’s blood running ice cold and his nails digging into his skin to the point he drew ichor.

“Pippa, listen very closely, I want you to take this snow globe and get everybody out of here. Get to the Warren and don’t look back,” the Guardian used the opportunity to his advantage. Shoving one of the remaining snow globes from his hoodie pocket into the little girl’s hands, blue eyes never once strayed from the distracted hunters. He briefly heard Pippa’s stuttered refusal, wanting to stay by his side and help as the heir of their clan should, but he paid her little attention. Instead, he called on the winds and they were all too happy to create a whirlwind, giving him enough time to push the slightly trembling girl towards the rest of the children. “Pippa, Go!”

Jack thanked the White Goddess she listened and ran towards the huddled group. Subsequently drawing Harek’s attention despite the low visibility he now found himself in. The hunter raised his crossbow with his one good arm and that was all it took to have two bolts of ice flying before his finger could touch the trigger. The bluish tinted ice sticking out of the Dragon Hunter’s leg was a stark contrast to the shard-cluster impeded in his shoulder which would have gone through the man’s heart had it not been for Jack’s hastily made bolt causing him to stumble at the last second. Blue eyes glanced over to the Alpha PermaFrosti Sentinel—catching just a glimpse of the back of Monty running through the Warren’s green fields as the portal closed—where icy eyes never wavered even when Harek screamed, dropping the crossbow and gripping at the cluster right over the stump of his arm.

“ _What the—?!”_ the feuding duo creased their argument, instantly on alert.

“ _Who did that? Show yourself?!”_ the shadow man demanded, eyes searching the shadows unaware the equine Nightmare behind him already had the culprit in its sight. The Nightmare shifted uneasily, aggressively pawing at the ground with its hoof. Clearly, it remembered him and its uneasiness at his presence quickly transferred to the rest of the hoard.

“ _He—he—they—,”_ Nygren stammered, his whole body trembling as he raised his hand to point towards the spot his unwavering eyes had stayed glue since being knocked off his feet by an invisible force.

Eir glanced in the direction of his shaking hand and scoffed. “ _What is your problem? Their just statues,_ _why don’t_ _you_ _help_ _your_ pretentious commander _before he bleeds to death,_ _get a move on already!_ ” 

Her words did nothing to snap the Dragon Hunter out of his stupor but it did enlighten Jack. Slowly, he stood up, a smirk growing on his face as terrified eyes tracked his every movement. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know when, he didn’t care how, but for whatever reason, Nygren could see him now and he was the only one to have witnessed just where the bolts of ice had come from.

“ _I wouldn’t listen to either of them if I were you, it wouldn’t be in your best interest…or health_ ,” Jack spoke ever so softly, letting frost seep into the ground around him and slowly permeate the earth as it crept closer to the paling Dragon Hunter.

A whimper escaped Nygren’s throat.

“ _Nygren!_ ” the shout did more than intended and while it did have the frozen hunter jumping back, it also was a sign of aggression and the ice dragon was done watching. With a mighty growl, he leapt forward and Eir barely had enough time to bring up her staff in defense. Ice fangs easily sunk into the wood and wrenched it out of the girl’s prosthetic throwing it to the side. It slid across the frozen ground and came to an abrupt halt as Nightless snapped it up, breaking it in half with a snap of her jaw.

Nygren let out a cry of terror as the Dragonlord rushed past him. The Inferno facsimilia jutting out to its full length and came down hard on a sword of still forming black sand shakily raised to defend himself. The Nightmares surged forth, not to protect the shadow man but towards the largest source of fear. They swarmed Nygren, hunting the Dragon Hunter as he had once hunted dragons. His screams petering out, replaced by the clashing of blades as the icy Dragonlord traded blows with the shadow man.

Harek must have come to his senses upon the sight of his subordinate being attacked by Nightmares and lunged for his fallen crossbow.

“ _I don’t think so_ ,” Zephyr’s eyes glowed as she splayed her hand out in front of her and hurled the weapon out of his reach with a wind spell. “ _þoden.”_

Furious eyes glared up, locking on to the little shieldmaiden. “ _You!_ ”

The thunderous roar ripped through the air as the commander ignored all the pain in his body and threw himself towards Zephyr. He was stopped in his tracks quite literally as tendrils of ice sprang up, encasing his feet all at once while winding further up his legs like vines effectively pinning him in place. Terrified eyes glanced down to find the ice around his feet thickening and the chill spreading faster, the inane rambled warning of Kári’s curse from the superstitious Nygren after their last failed attempt to capture the beast finally taking root in the commander’s brain.

Eyes only now realizing the danger they were all in looked back up into the stormy glaciers separating him from the child. “ _Jökul Frosti_.”

“ _So you_ have _heard of me_ ,” Jack quirked an eyebrow.

“ _I—I—I…_ ” Harek stammered as the ice climbed higher, immobilizing his remaining arm. If it wasn’t for the current situation he found himself in, he would have relaxed as the cold was a soothing balm of numbness, relieving him from the constant pain emanating from his stump. As it were, the chill was a terrifying reality of the death he looked coldly in the eyes as the rest of his body joined in on the numbness, his brain slowly shutting down. The commander tried to force his eyes to stay open, but with each flutter, it took longer and longer for him to draw his eyelids back up.

When those eyelids slid closed, ice shattered and the unconscious Harek fell to the ground. Jack didn’t care as he rounded on the shieldmaiden behind him.

“What are you still doing here? I told Pippa to take you and get to safety!” the Guardian demanded, careful to not let any of the fury he felt to taint the intonation of his voice. He succeeded only there. His worry for her, on the other hand, shown clear through.

“We can help!” Zephyr’s words short-circuited the spirit’s brain. Whirling around, Jack’s worst fears were realized as he found the ‘we’ part of the shieldmaiden’s statement.

Nuffink was being held at knifepoint with his own dagger by a kneeling Eir while the icy Dragonlord and shadow man’s clashing of swords echoed ominously from somewhere in the shadows.

“ _Witch! Drop your enchantments or I will kill him_ ,” Eir spoke with a hint of madness to her voice, eyes staring past Jack and instead where locked on the shieldmaiden.

“ _I’m not a witch, I’m a sorceress_ ,” Zephyr automatically responded confidently while moving to stand closer to the spirit. “ _And I haven’t enchanted anything!_ ”

A shake of his head stopped her in her tracks. “Don’t. She cannot see me.”

“ _Don’t lie to me! The statues are clearly enchanted!_ ” the older girl unknowingly spoke over Jack, waving dramatically towards the PermaFrosti Alpha standing between them and the hoard of Nightmares. “ _Put an end to your spell **now** or I’ll kill him_.”

Zephyr opened her mouth, to reiterate yet again she couldn’t control either the ice construct or the PermaFrosti Sentinel when she noticed the spirit’s fingers tapping out a tattoo on his leg. It was hard to hear it, even with her close proximity but blue eyes immediately looked back towards Eir, expecting to see ice tendrils similar to those that trapped the hunter springing forth. There were none. There was, however, a weird distortion off to the side, slowly moving closer towards the hunter. Blue eyes tried to focus on the distortion, wondering if it was ice slowly gathering together or something else the eternal teen had up his sleeve.

“ _I warned Nygren_ ,” the spirit slowly spoke. “ _This is my warning to you._ Nightless.”

A sudden blast of heat in front of her had Eir releasing a shriek of terror, loosening her grip on the small Viking who took the opening. Nuffink wrenched himself free and snapped an elbow back. It connected with the shieldmaiden’s face, causing her to drop the dagger altogether as her hand flew to her broken nose, failing to stem the flow of blood and pain. Nuffink didn’t even bother to look back, slamming his smaller foot into the hunter’s ankle, producing yet another howl of pain. Running towards his sister, he scooped up his dagger and continued towards safety.

Once he passed the PermaFrosti Alpha, who lunged at the Nightmares that dared to make a break for the small boy, Nuffink heard the unmistakable voice of the Guardian. “Nightless, they’re all yours.”

Wondering just who—or what—this Nightless was, the young Viking turned to see Eir knock off the ground, thrown from her feet due to the concussive force of a blast, the after effect which scarred the ground. Even with the briefest of forewarning, Nuffink was not prepared for the sight of gleaming white scales and razor-sharp claws to descend on the nearest Nightmare. 

“ _I tried to warn her, not my fault she couldn’t see me_ ,” Jack sighed, drawing the little boy’s attention away from the battle and towards him, just as the spirit had intended. No sooner than which than Eir was sent flying into a tree, hitting it with a sickening impacted before crumpling to the ground. “Nightless, enough. It’s my—”

Whatever Jack was going to say was wrench from his lips as he found himself no longer staring down at the two Viking children and instead staring at the shadow man with an icy Inferno in hand. A glance around revealed that Nightmares were surrounding him and the shadow man was clutching where his right arm should have been but was instead pouring out sand blacker than the night, hissing curses. Golden eyes gleamed with hatred as he spat a kill order and the Nightmares jumped to comply.

He quickly brought up his weapon, impaling the nearest Nightmare—a Pooka—and held up his other hand to defend himself from a Nightmare Fairy. Jack was surprised to see frost encase the blackened sand and the thing to fall to the ground, shattering. With that revelation, he slashed at the Nightmare Fairy buzzing too close to his head for comfort, vaguely aware of the frost seeping from the wound before twirling the blade in an arc, clipping a number of the creatures in its path. Frost immediately grew from their wounds and with another blow, they shattered.

An urgent whicker had glacier eyes searching for the equine Nightmare to find the shadow man clumsily climbing on to its back, turning tail to retreat. He struggled to follow, but without a mount of his own, he had no hope of keeping up with the fleeing Nightmare. Any remaining hope was further diminished as the rest of the hoard sacrificed themselves to allow their leader to escape and it was indeed a sacrifice as shards of ice impaled close to a dozen Nightmares.

Turning, Jack saw through the ice construct’s eyes the PermaFrosti Alpha bounding his way towards him, forgoing his earlier pursuit of a couple of Nightmares fleeing to come to his rescue. A trio of blasts of ice shards were shot with deadly accuracy. Each found their mark and thinned the hoard a bit further, permitting him to swing up into the dragon’s saddle without missing a beat and decapitating a Pooka Nightmare all in one motion that Jack had no control of. With the aid of wings, the distance the shadow man put between them was quickly halved and instead of complete darkness, he could barely make out the fluttering of a cloak.

He caught a glimpse of hate-filled golden eyes as the man glanced back and it was enough. Enough hesitation, enough time, for the PermaFrosti to surge past them and twist about to face the oncoming threat. Icy shards clipped black hooves, sending the equine Nightmare toppling, throwing its rider. By the time he got his feet under him, a blade of ice was at his throat and his mount gave a final wicker as icy teeth sank into its neck.

“ _Don’t think you’ve won,_ ” the shadowy man hissed, sneering up into icy eyes. Jack tilted the ice construct’s head to the side, frown deepening as he pushed the sword just a little deeper. Ice started to form, spreading outward but golden eyes glimmered with a renewed vigor as laughter bubbled from the man’s throat. “ _Disgraceful, beaten by a hedgewitch that can’t impress upon their vardøger correctly, let alone communicate. Actual me will be so disappointed when we learn of this.”_

Something slammed into his—Jack’s—the ice Dragonlord’s—stomach which would have knocked the air out of him if he were breathing. 

Looking down through icy eyes, Jack could see the severed hand bleeding sand was now impaled through shattered ice, can feel the darkness spreading outwards, fracturing the ice from within. Looking up into triumphant golden eyes which soon turn to horror as frost spread across the bridge, down his arm to incase his whole body. The spirit can feel something within the being—the _vardøger_ , the phantom double—attempting to escape, to flee back to the original the shadow spoke of. Something dark and twisted and Jack wasn’t about to let it escape, to warn its creator. With the last strength the ice construct had, he plunged Inferno through the vardøger’s neck, a familiar spell leaving cracked lips.

“ _Lig—et,”_ the last of the spell tapering off into a grunt as ice and black sand shattered, falling to the ground in a glitter of gold.

Jack was thrown back into awareness.

Stumbling forward, the eternal teen was met by the white dragon racing forward to brace him before he could fall. Blue eyes widen as a concerned rumble left her throat. Taking a few deep breaths, trembling fingers glided across smooth white scales as the spirit reoriented himself, feeling the prick of tears in the corners of his eyes but unwilling to let them fall. 

Instead, he whispered words to soothe both himself and those around him. “You did good, Nightless. Thank you for your help.”

The dragon, Nightless, crooned, leaning into the touch as he reached up and scratched her behind her ear-plate in that particular spot he knew she liked so much. Slightly more grounded than he’d been a moment prior, Jack immediately looked towards the children to make sure no harm had befallen them while his awareness was elsewhere. They were fine, albeit staring rather blatantly at the albino dragon and completely oblivious to his earlier mental jaunt.

“That’s a dragon.”

“Hmm,” Jack tilted his head to the side giving an indication he hadn’t heard what the shieldmaiden said, pulling blue eyes away from the unsettling form of Nygren rocking back and forth with vaca eyes, whispering nonsense. He wouldn’t be much of a problem anymore. 

Zephyr opened her mouth and then closed it, before opening it once more. “That’s a dragon.”

“Yes, Nightless is a dragon,” the tired spirit hummed, giving the dragon one final pat as blue eyes glanced around. Guilt filling his stomach when only the PermaFrosti Sentinel stepped into the now sunny clearings, slinking his way slowly to stand on Jack’s other side, away from Nightless’s narrowed gaze. “Just like your PermaFrosti Sentinel over there, though, I’d say he’s more of a Boulder-class dragon rather than a Strike-class dragon he was fashioned after.”

“But— _dragon_ —not PermaFrosti— Jökul—dragon— _real?_ ” Nuffink sputtered unable to draw his eyes away from the glittering scales, drawing vibrant blue eyes with catlike slits towards him. Slits which were soon expanding to wide blocky pupils when he unconsciously took a step closer to his sister. Sniffing the air, the white dragon cocked her head to the side as if to study them. Another touch from Jack had her easy up as he ran a hand down her spine and with a huff the albino Night Fury primly sat down next to the spirit, taking her cue from him.

“That’s a good girl,” Jack praised the dragon—who preened at the praise—before turning back to the little Vikings who were staring wide-eyed at Nightless. “Are you two okay?”

“That’s a dragon,” Zephyr reiterated for the third time.

“Zephyr, are you alright? You weren’t hurt, were you?” the Guardian of Fun felt worry creep up on him. Neither children had been hurt as far as he knew and a quick visual scan revealed no external injuries but with the way they were acting, he was starting to doubt the validity of his assessment.

“Real dragon!” Nuffink, who’d appeared to be holding his breath for some time, exploded. “That’s a real dragon! Not a PermaFrosti Sentinel, but a real _dragon_.”

A frown marred the white-haired spirit’s face as he tried to make sense of the Viking children’s behavior. “What do you mean by a _real_ dragon?”

“We’ve never seen dragons before, other than the PermaFrosti Sentinels that is,” the dark-haired shieldmaiden’s explanation stole Jack’s breath away.

“You’ve never seen a _dragon_ in the _Barbaric Archipelago_ in _your whole life_?” the spirit all but whispered as what ichor flowed through him drained from his face, leaving him feeling light-headed and dizzy. The siblings both shook their heads and Jack found himself collapsing to his knees.

Before he could even comprehend and internalize what the Viking children had told him, Nightless ear-plates suddenly shot up before she simmered and disappeared from sight. This startled the siblings into looking around in search of the dragon but neither could see where the dragon had gone or even if it had moved. Jack, for his part, could see the blurry outline which was the albino dragon. Though, he couldn’t quite work up the energy to reassure the children Nightless hadn’t gone anywhere. His mind was in turmoil.

It was only the white dragon’s low growls—which were easily swept away by the winds but not before he heard them—that tired blue eyes glanced over as another portal opened up and the rest of the Guardians came through.

“Oh, so now they come,” Jack murmured dishearted. If they were even five minutes earlier, they might have been able to save the Hicc—the Viking construct. As it was, the Big Four just stood there, looking around the clearing in confusion. “You’re late to the party.”

The accusation was lacking, with no real bite behind it. Then again, even if Jack had the willpower to dredged through his emotional fatigue, he didn’t think the other Guardians listened. Rather they followed the sound of his voice, paying no mind to his words.

“Sweet Tooth, what happened here?” Toothiana was the first to recover.

“I haven’t the foggiest. I can say that the children showing up in the Warren was no coincidence and someone—I don’t know who he was—was hunting them,” and the invisible dragon by his side, but Jack wasn’t about to bring that little tidbit up when Nightless clearly didn’t trust the Big Four.

“Someone was hunting _children_?” Toothiana’s eyes couldn’t get bigger if they tried.

Solemnly, Jack reached out and gathered a handful of black sand, the frost encasing them glistening blue in the light as he held it up for the Guardians to see. “Things got a little messy after that.”

The lot stiffened and Sandy actually floated back away from the tainted Dreamsand. His own golden sand flaring brighter to illuminate the ground and residual black sand that lingered. A few symbols zipped over his head in a rush amounting to ‘Drop It!’ which Jack immediately did, going so far as to having the winds whisk the nearest heap away. It was enough to appease the Sandman, but not enough to calm him down and the eternal spirit couldn’t blame him. Being surrounded once again by the tainted sands that once consumed him was bound to bring forth unwanted memories. While he couldn’t purify the sands as the Little Lights could, he was able to create a layer of frost over the sands as a barrier which he immediately did in hopes of providing comfort to the Guardian of Dreams.

“Messy, da; little, nyet,” North shook his head, dragging the tip of his sword through a pile of frosted over black sand. The exposed taint was quickly sealed away with a thicker layer of frost without the Guardian of Wonder’s notice. Aged eyes too caught up with the battlefield rather than the ground to take notice.

A quick glance around showed there was a bit battered and chard with some blood splatter but no real property damage. There was the stabbed commander, the Dragon Hunter crumpled at the base of a tree, and the alchemist sprawled out across the ground, all unconscious. The equivalent of the aftermath of a bar fight from a Viking viewpoint. From a Hairy Hooligan Tribe member’s viewpoint, it was an indication that a Hofferson, Jorgenson, or Thorston hadn’t been involved. Because if they had, there would be a lot more property damage and a staggering amount of stabbing victims or bodies crumpled on the ground. It would seem the Viking children had a similar thought to as they looked at each other and shrugged in confusion.

“Wait, where are the Little Lights?” Jack asked, it finally clicking in his head that if all the Guardians were here and he sent them to the Warren then where were the Little Lights?

“Don’t worry Frostbite, they’re safe at the Warren with a few of the Egg Warriors watching over them and a few yetis and a few others,” the last part of Bunny’s explanation growled out.

“A few others?” the spirit echoed, not sure if he could take any more unexpected revelations right now. He was still trying to wrap his head around the lack of dragons in the Barbaric Archipelago which was only the tip of the iceberg. 

The Big Four shifted nervously and there were many frowns among the group.

“We might have found out where the children came from,” Toothiana answered hesitantly, glancing at the children.

Now it was the eternal teen’s turn to frown. “Okay, and that is bad how?”

“There were fae in my Warren!”

The only thought going through Jack’s head was ‘ _oops_ ’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had a whole different ending scenario going on with Zephyr and Nuffink pointing out that Nightless wasn't an albino Night Fury but and Light Fury and explaining the difference to Jack...This came out instead. To top it off, Ice!Hiccup wasn't supposed to go the way of water, but he did.
> 
> Also, look at the chapter titles for the last few chapters. I had fun with those.
> 
> As a reminder, I’ve got a Ko-Fi page going, if you want. There’s no obligation or anything—this has always been for fun, and this series is always gonna be free for everybody—but if you wanna help me buy a tea so I may hideout in a coffee shop to get some writing done rather than be distracted by everything else going on in my life, that’s definitely the way to go. Thank you all for your support and encouraging reviews. See you next time.
> 
> ~SilverlySilence


	12. Land of Faerie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Koltrast: Whelp, I've learned another new thing, I never knew of the saying "kært barn har mange navne" before and to learn it is pretty common throughtout Scandinavian countries is cool. Though, I have to say, the saying definitely applies to this series, this story in particular. A beloved *coughElskedecough* child *err eternal teen?* has many names *ElskedesobsElskede*. I'm going to go sob in the corner now. Why do I do this to myself?
> 
> I_Logophile: I shouldn't have been drinking tea when I read your review because I imagined King Fergus's voice when I read "Hiccup why can’t you stay single, and fly through the glen, firing plasma blasts into the sunset as you mourn (and hopefully also unknowingly wait for Jackson to return)?" and nearly died choking. As for your questions, well, I am the Norn of Silence, so you'll have to stick around and find out the answers for yourself.
> 
> Titania_queen_of_fairys: Why must you have such beautiful imaginary? Now I can see a group of students asking questions to 'Dumbledore' who is in fact a peacock and all of them are assuming the squawking 'answers' are a sign of his eccentric...yep, can't unsee it now. And you are absolutely right, Jack and Nightless are ride or die now, partners in crime, adventure and general tomfoolery (though she leaves most of the tomfoolery up to Jack, honestly. No really, it was a complete accident she knocked over that honey jar with her tail and how could she have known was Grimmel was just below her in front of a occupied den of bears?)
> 
> Sleepless Squad: This Chapter is for You! (Especially you Spyrite.)
> 
> Hopefully this is eerie enough for a Halloween post. Enjoy!

“So, anyone want to elaborate on how you ‘might have’ found out where the children came from?” Jack asked, fingers laced behind his upturned head as glacier blue orbs followed a small stream of Dreamsand lazily flowing through the Warren’s tunnels. A couple of feet in front of the streams of sand was a large cloud carefully carrying the sleeping form of one of the Dragon Hunter—Eir—tethered to a second cloud of Dreamsand that was tethered to yet another cloud. Both of which supported the remaining members of the hunter trio, not that the eternal teen could see either of the men from his vantage point. 

Jack would’ve preferred it if the hunters were the ones to suffer the long trek back through the labyrinthine of tunnels rather than forcing the children to make the walk in their stead. However, logically, he knew that wasn’t a viable option. Not only did Sandy’s sands provide transportation, but they also kept the Dragon Hunters asleep, allowing the sands to carry the nonbelievers to the Warren. Okay, so technically, Jack could have carried either of the male hunters since they now believed in him, but he wasn’t about to touch them with a ten-foot pole if he could help it. 

As it were, he already hated the idea the trio was being brought along with them. He wanted them as far away from him and his own—which in this case included the Little Lights, the Viking children, and all the dragons, real or ice—as possible but he’d been outvoted. The rest of the Guardians wanted to interrogate the hunters once Jack told them about the shadow man and the potential connection to Pitch. How they were going to do so when the probability that the Dragon Hunters could see the Big Four was so low that he had a better chance of melting in summer—and why everyone thought he would melt in the presence of any form of heat still eluded the spirit—was beyond Jack.

Still, that didn’t mean the Big Four were in the wrong wanting to bring the hunters along with. They couldn’t be left in Burgess and no matter how much Jack loathed Dragon Hunters, he had an obligation to get the budding population of Vikings and dragons growing in his general vicinity back to where they belonged in the Barbaric Archipelago. If the other Guardians truly found a way to get Zephyr and Nuffink back home, then he might as well get the assholes back too. Let the Viking courts deal with them, not him.

Thankfully, the Alpha Frosti Sentinel was as compassionate as his Night Fury counterpart and was happy to let the children ride on his back, trekking along at his side where they felt safe from the Dragon Hunters and the Big Four ahead of them. Nightless, for her part, was tense as she took up the rear, slinking silently behind him like an invisible spectator. Silent because she preferred to keep her presence hidden from anyone who wasn’t Jack. Otherwise, he knew she would be growling and snapping at the hunter. Or cooing in concern seeing as at one point he began to flicker yet again, tripping over nothing and if it wasn’t for her pulling him back up by the hem of his hoodie, he would have fallen flat on his face. 

He had quietly thanked her before quickening his pace to catch up in time to hear Bunny’s _detailed_ explanation of how the rest of the Guardians ‘might have’ found out where the Viking children were from.

“Fae,” the Pooka hissed out as if that explained anything at all. 

It didn’t.

“O—okay,” the spirit drew out, blinking rapidly to stall the oncoming headache. “Fae have a pretty large population what with the vast subset of species included in their ranks, since you know, _everybody_ —” here Jack made an exasperated gesture “—who comes from the Nevernever _must_ be a fae. They might hide well but they are _everywhere_. So, a few were found in your Warren, how does that correlate with getting the children home?”

The white-haired Guardian didn’t see any of the Big Four exchange looks ranging from bewilderment and bafflement to fond amusement at his obliviousness.

“Jack,” North said his name in such a mollifying way that it was clear he didn’t think the eternal teen knew what he was talking about. “You do know who reigns over the fae, da?”

Jack rolled his eyes, partially due to the comment and partially due to the light from the Warren blinding him as he exited the tunnel. “Of course, who doesn’t know how the Courts of Summer and Winter work?”

“They apparently don’t,” a lovely timber drifted across the clearing. 

Glacier eyes immediately found the beauty the voice belonged to and couldn’t stop the smile from splitting across his face. For there, surrounded by the Seven Brightest Lights and a bunch of the Dewdrop Faeries—now a few Winter and Wyldfae mixed in with the Summer fae—was the definition of an earthly beauty. She could have been mistaken for Snow White with her pale complexion and pitch-black hair perpetually floating around her on a constant breeze. The similarities went no further as she had a long, yet lovely face and fathomless black eyes that gleamed silver in the right light. The same could be said about her high-neck, bodiced dress with a flowing skirt that appeared to be one with the clouds. All in all, she had an aura of regal air about her that sent off an alarming number of warning signs that this woman was a force of nature to be reckoned with.

“ _EJ!_ ” Jack was utterly delighted to see one of the few people that befriended him during his three-hundred years of loneliness. He all but floated over to her side, enveloping her in a tight hug. She returned it along with a kiss on both his cheeks. “It’s been so long! What, two-three decades?”

The woman laughed as she pulled away. “Jack, it’s only been five years. Stop exaggerating and what, pray tell, happened to the last hoodie I gave you?”

Here, she tweaked the drawstrings of his hoodie which had tiny snowflake embellishments on either end that weren’t on the one she’d given him. “I might have ruined your gift again, sorry.”

“Jack, you wear out an outfit about once every other decade, sometimes longer, I think you can be forgiven for ruining them,” black tresses swayed as she shook her head in fond amusement.

“Yeah, yeah,” the eternal teenager waved off, glancing from the children watching them with interest in their eyes to the group of fae floating about, tinkering happily. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Explaining how the Courts work, apparently,” the woman let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Bugger off, we all know you’re Mother Nature, Emily Jane _Pitch_ iner. Of course, we know what that entitles,” Bunny jeered, ears flattening as he pulled his eyes away from the Winter Dewdrop Faeries working on removing the ice spirals still holding strong in the springtime environment to glared daggers at Mother Nature. It was nothing in comparison to the stare of fathomless black orbs.

Emily Jane’s glare was colder than the core of any glacier and sharper than any dagger. “I believe, _Pooka_ , you are thinking of the Mother Natures of the Golden Ages rather than the mantle bestowed upon the Mother Nature of _Earth_. While I admit the titles are the same combined with my proficiency with the four main branches of elemental magic, that does not mean I control the seasons. Neither am I the supreme ruler of the fae.”

Jack couldn’t hold back his laughter at the absurdity of Emily Jane’s words. He laughed long and loud—he needed it after the morning he had—right up until he realized she was being serious and the Big Four believed just that. 

“Wait… you really think EJ controls the seasons?” the eternal teen asked the Guardians, all laughter gone as his eyes widened.

Sandy answered with an enthusiastic nod of his head while an array of symbols formed over his head. Jack didn’t bother trying to decipher the symbols this time too busy trying to pick his jaw up off of the ground.

“Da,” North followed suit, nodding his head with a broad smile and completely missing the look of utter disbelief on the younger Guardian’s face. “Bunny told us how Mother Natures of the various planets in the Golden Ages runs things. She is in charge of the seasons; it is her that controls the climate.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jack croaked out, praying his ears were deceiving him. From the look on their faces, his ears were working perfectly fine. “You’re serious… That—that’s not how things work! EJ’s title as Mother Nature is superficial at best. She acts as a liaison between the Courts of Summer and Winter—the personification of the seasons—a glorified messenger girl if anything,” the white-haired spirit threw the woman a sheepish grin. “No offense EJ.”

Emily Jane rolled her eyes but shot him a thankful grin. “Some taken.”

“But Jack, you’re _the_ Spirit of Winter,” Toothiana helpfully pointed out.

“ _Doesn’t she remember he already told them he_ wasn’t _the Spirit of Winter earlier today_?” the eternal teen faintly heard Nuffink whisper in his native tongue, effectively reminding Jack of their presence while earning him a shushing from his sister. 

Glancing over, the eternal teen found that the current scene unfolding between the Guardians and Mother Nature was like watching a movie for the children. Not only had the Viking children joined the Little Lights on the ground, but now all of them were sitting attentively as if they were sprawled across Monty’s entertainment room floor watching a movie on the large screen television rather than in the Warren. One of the Wyldfae was even going around handing out fresh berries to the children for them to munch on.

How was this his life?

“No, he’s a spirit who happens to have a few cool tricks up his sleeves,” the sarcastic comment tore glacier blue eyes away from the highly entertained children to EJ.

A single white eyebrow twitched. “Really? That was _horrible_.”

Emily Jane just shrugged nonchalantly. “Can’t win them all, and I regretted it as soon as it came out.”

“If she is not the one who controls the seasons, then who?” North asked, doubt coloring his words as he glanced at Bunny questioningly. The Pooka was too busy mumbling what Jack assumed to be Pookanese swears while trying to curse the raven-haired woman with his eyes alone to take notice.

Letting out a sigh, the eternal teen bit the bullet, knowing he had a better chance of getting the Big Four to believe him rather than if it came from the daughter of Kozmotis Pitchiner. “Technically, no individual or group holds complete control over the weather and thus the seasons. Yeah, some people can influence it to a degree because they are proficient at one or multiple branches of elemental magic and can redirect lightning here or summon a storm there. Not to mention there are rituals out there to harness nature to the caster’s whims but the raw amount of magic needed and the potential backlash they can cause for a brief moment of control is staggering. However, neither of which is anything at all like total command over the seasons as you’re inferring.

“The Balance of Nature can and _will_ rectify itself if outside interference tips the equilibrium too far in one direction or another. The Winter of Terror and Pompeii are two examples of _minor_ backlashes caused by idiots thinking they can control the Balance of Nature and getting themselves and everyone in their general vicinity killed. But when the balance between life and death has been affected by interference with the Balance of Nature? When that balance tips, havoc reigns. Magic does _not_ take it well when it has been used to abuse the most hollowed of balances and tends to go overboard in correcting the problem as has happened with The Year Without a Winter and The Black Death.

“In the past, Druid clans were the ones to keep the Balance of Nature in check to prevent magic or any of the gods of the Old Religion from getting involved. But after the Great Purge wiped out most of the clans and the remaining magic users didn’t care about maintaining any kind of balance, more and more calamities occurred until finally a group of Seelie and Unseelie fae stepped in. Not out of concern for the instability of the fluctuating balances but out of self-preservation.

“The White Goddess took notice of the new group of fae and their—albeit malicious at times—governing of the seasons to keep the Balance of Nature intact. As a show of her appreciation, she presented them with the Stone Table—a literal stone table that is linked to the changing of seasons and shows the current state at any given time—to assist the group. However, the Stone Table came with a stipulation and by accepting it they were tying themselves to it and the Balance of Nature. They would receive a mass power boost but that power would wax and wane with the seasons.

“Two of the Dewdrop Faeries—siblings if the story is to be believed—were the only ones brave enough to accept the offering and were elevated into the ranks of the Sidhe. This didn’t sit well with the existing Seelie and Unseelie Sidhe and a war broke out. Pixie Hollow—the home of the Wyldfae who refused to take a side with either the Seelie or Unseelie Courts—was destroyed in the conflict, sending a shock through the world. The sisters, with the backing of the homeless Wyldfae and various allies, barely managed to upsurge the Olden Courts,” the spirit breezed over the gory details of the war and how the captured Old Sidhe were executed upon the Stone Table as blood sacrifices to bolster their power, “by harnessing their connection with the Stone Table and correcting the imbalance in the process. Thus, the Court of Summer and the Court of Winter as we know it were created and they have since grown into the vast empires seen today in the Nevernever.”

A question mark made of Dreamsand sprang into being above Sandy’s head and just that. Jack was clueless as to where he had lost the Guardian of Dreams or if it was an attempt at a follow-up question and without any additional context, the spirit was just as lost. 

Thankfully, Toothiana seemed to be on the same wavelength as the smaller man and voiced a question that had Sandy nodding in agreement. “That is the second time you’ve mentioned the Nevernever. What exactly is it?”

Jack had a strong case of déjà vu. Back to Berk when he ranted to Snotlout and Fishlegs about the Vikings’ general lack of knowledge about the magic surrounding them. Rather than the Vikings’ cluelessness about the magical side of Berk due to obliviousness, he was dealing with the Guardians’ lack of knowledge out of arrogance. They just assumed things worked the same way on Earth as they had in the Golden Ages. He could kind of understand why Sandy and Bunny would fall into such a mindset since they were from the Golden Ages themselves and probably saw the people of Earth as primitive compared to the advance civilizations in the Golden Ages, but that didn’t explain why Toothiana or North would think that way.

For magic’s sake, Toothiana was a Creature of Magic herself! How could she not understand the complexities of the Balance of Nature when she was fundamentally connected to said Balance? And North! Well, okay, Jack was willing to admit out of all the Guardians he had the best excuse seeing how he was once only a human thief before becoming a Guardian. From the sound of it, the Guardian of Wonder took everything Bunny told him as gospel. The Guardian of Fun could understand that to a point, but even when he had no memories of his Druid heritage, the spirit took the time to learn about the world he lived in.

“It’s the Land of Faerie located only MiM knows where,” Bunny waved a paw dismissively.

Emily Jane let out a long-suffering sigh. “No, it is not. Though, as Jack mentioned, the empires of Summer and Winter are more often than not the first regions people tend to think of when the Nevernever is mentioned and thus I might understand the misconception. But no, it is not the Land of Fae because it also contains—somewhere in the vast expanse—the realms of Olympus, Elysium, Tartarus, Gehena, and various other places that have since relocated from there from Earth.

“It exists alongside our own as a sort of alternate dimension but is still fundamentally a part of this world. The shape differs in such a way that the Nevernever only touches in places where energies resonance with one another. It can be a scary place for those who do not call the lands home. If one does not extensively plan their journey through the Nevernever or have a guide, they’re lucky if they only are lost forever in the Nevernever. However, knowing the Ways, the safe paths, can get a person to a faraway location quick and easily.

“Then there is the rare case of someone succeeding in forcing their way through the Nevernever by ripping multiple holes in the fabric of reality—” here Mother Nature’s eyes hardened as they traveled over the Viking children and then towards the trio of slumbering hunters where they settled on Eir with a look of displeasure crossing her face, “—and if such were the case and the multiple tears were scattered throughout both Courts’ empires, I—acting as their intermediary—would be tasked with investigating the anomaly to find the culprit and assure both Courts there were no plans for an invasion by the opposing Court.”

“And this is why I only deal with the unaffiliated Wyldfae or lowly Dewdrop Faeries who have no real clout, I hate Sidhe Court politics and their underhanded assassinations,” Jack shuddered and gave a pointed look at the children. “And what do we do when we run into a Sidhe?”

“Be polite, choose your words carefully, and above all else don’t make any deals or accept anything from them,” the Little Lights chorused.

“Right,” the spirit nodded his head sagely.

Twin eyebrows rose in surprise as their owner stared Jack straight in the eyes with a look of pure disbelief. “This coming from the guy who turned down the Winter Lady in the heart of Winter’s empire at their most cherished of balls in front of the whose-who of the Winter Court and _Queen Mab_?”

“Exactly, I was polite about it, choosing my words carefully, and did not accept any gifts from the Winter Lady.”

“The only reason you’re not truly dead is because Mother Winter—for some unknown reason—took a liking to you and prevented Queen Mab from exorcising you on the spot. You haven’t been back to the Nevernever since.”

“And I never will.”

“You won’t, but they will,” Emily Jane agreed with a neutral smile on her face as she nonchalantly gestured towards the Big Four.

“What do you mean by that?” Toothiana finally broke into the duo’s conversation, feeling lost to some degree as she attempted to piece together what was going on and what they were talking about.

“As I said, I was tasked with figuring out who has been invading the Lands of Summer and Winter without the Queens’ permission and bring back those involved.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Bunny shot back. “We had nothing to do with that.”

“Ah, but weren’t you the one to accuse me only an hour ago about ‘my fae’ abandoning kidnapped children and magical ice statues in your Warren? And now I find your group has in their custody the offenders who dared to break in and trespass through _both_ Courts. As Mother Nature, a neutral part of the two Courts ordered to investigate the crime, I must present _everyone_ involved to both Queens.”

“And if we don’t go with you?” North challenged.

“Then I have the authority to make you,” a heavy hand fell on North’s shoulder and he turned around, only to be met with the shiny black metal of a breastplate. The Guardian of Wonder had to tilt his head back to meet the _red_ eyes of the giant of a being—he had to have been at least nine feet tall, how he’d snuck up on all of them without there notice was a mystery—with sharp antlers jutting out of grizzly light-brown hair.

The fierce Pooka warrior froze at the sight of the inhuman being in his territory. “The Erlking, you got _The_ Erlking to assist you? _He tried to kill me!_ ”

“Mother Nature did no such thing. I am here in my position as the Summer King as Queen Tatiana summoned me to attend to the matter of finding those that dared to trespass in her territory seeing how I am much more efficient in tracking down game than Mother Nature. You should be grateful, Rabbit, that the Queen requires you alive. You were lucky to elude me then, I do believe you’re one of the few prey that can claim to elude me during a Wild Hunt, be proud. But, know if you run now, you will not escape me this time and as long as you can still speak, Queen Tatiana will not begrudge me for any harm that may befall you during my hunt.”

The confidence Bunny usually wore as if it were his fur seemed to return with that threat. “Why you—!”

It was Emily Jane who got in between them, saving the ungrateful Guardian of Hope’s fur. “Lord Herne, I am grateful for your assistance, but I am handling it. I do not need your _skills_. The Queens have entrusted me with this mission and I am going to complete it.”

“They must not trust you all that much, because both I and the Winter King were called by our respective Queens to look into the matter as well. But the old bucket had other ‘ _priorities_ ’ to deal with or so he said and encouraged me to leave it to you, Mother Nature. Which is unlike him, thus my curiosity was aroused and the only way to sate my newly awaken appetite was to find these trespassers which led me here,” the Erlking explained, walking around the group and looking them over in appraisal. “Now, I can see why he wasn’t so keen on joining. He must have known these so-called _Guardians_ were involved and after witnessing your interaction with them, I find them lacking,” the man addressed Emily Jane, dismissing the bristling Big Four. “They didn’t even know of the Nevernever and yet they have been alive how long? Disgraceful…except for this one.”

The man finally came to a stop to stare down at the eternal teenager. Jack met those red eyes head-on, unflinching. The Erlking was not as intimidating the second time around as the first. Though, back then, he’d been only a few months into his jaunt into the past and encountered the unfriendly man when he had his second-first meeting with Mr. Vadderung.

“You look familiar, have we met?” Lord Herne demanded.

“Once. Mr. Vad—"

“Ah,” the Summer King cut him off with a flippant gesture of his hand. “You must be _Jack Frost_ , the one the old bucket instructed me to stay away from. I don’t see why,” Lord Herne snorted, stalking around the nonchalant spirit with a critical eye. “There’s nothing special about you. I will admit you are more informed than the other Guardians but I cannot comprehend why he would allow you to steal one of his pantheon’s identity. It caused quite an uproar and after your little stunt at the Winter Ball, you’re one despised individual.”

Jack chose not to say a word. He knew the Summer King was attempting to bait him and he refused to play along. However, the small smile that slowly spread across Lord Herne’s face had his stomach sinking. The little bit of self-preservation the Dragon Riders had managed to beat into his thick head during his years as one of them screamed to him to run; run _now_.

“The old bucket should know better—” the man took a step forward and Jack stood his ground only because the children were a few feet behind him, “—he didn’t make me promise—” the smile on his face widened as he reached into Jack’s personal space. The white-haired spirit tensed and stumbled back when the man simply used two fingers to prod his forehead. That was a mistake as his feet did not find purchase on the solid ground that was supposed to be behind him and rather fell through the now open portal. “—say hello to Queen Mab for me Jack Frost.”

“ _NO!_ ” Emily Jane shouted, reaching out for her friend but an invisible force knocked her back as a great burst of wind shot passed her and through the portal just as it closed. Whirling around on the balls of her feet, hair whipping about in an unnatural wind as the foliage surrounding her started to grow into thick briar vines lashing about. “Are you _insane_?”

“It is not my problem. I was just following my Queen’s commands and Odin should know better than to tell me what to do. Now, the rest of you best be on your way before I change my mind and decide to send you through the more _scenic_ route. Oh, and you better hurry, I don’t think your little friend will last long there. What with the lengths Queen Mab tends to go while holding grudges. I wonder what she’ll do to him? Oh, maybe I should go and watch, the Wild Hunt isn’t for some time yet and it would be fun to get the blood pumping, wouldn’t you say, Rabbit?”

“Bugger off, you crickey gumbie, you’re bloody mad,” Bunny growled.

“Ah, but I told you, I would make you go to the Nevernever and look, I have, without laying a single hand on you too,” Lord Herne grinned, watching as Mother Nature did her best to quickly replicate the portal he created. He must admit, he was impressed with the woman from the stars, she’d adapted to their ways rather well in the past few centuries and the spirit with winter in his veins had greatly understated her abilities. She was more than proficient with elemental magic if her little display of anger was to go by.

“Bunny, there’s no time, we’ve got to hurry and get to Jack!” Toothiana tugged at the Pooka’s wrist, pulling him towards the portal Emily Jane managed to create a few feet off the ground, just above the one that had swallowed the Guardian of Fun.

* * *

Jack was no longer tired. 

No, he was truly, utterly _pissed_.

He never thought he would find himself back in the Nevernever. Steered clear of it after the whole Winter Court Ball fiasco. Went out of his way to distance himself from the higher-ups of the Courts actually. But he still managed to attract the twice damned Summer King’s attention which explained why he was in a place he’d never wanted to return to. Really, all things considering, the eternal spirit could have handled it. What he could not handle was the reckless way Lord Herne opened a portal to the Nevernever in the ground behind him.

The idiot never considered what or _who_ else was behind Jack.

“Is everyone alright?” Jack asked, heart finally calming down upon confirming he’d managed to cushion the children’s fall with blankets upon blankets of fresh powdered snow. He had only seconds as he tumbled through the air to notice the freefalling Little Lights. His rapid descent was quickly stopped as the winds caught him in their grasp and held him aloft. Even as they wailed in his ears that they could not catch the little humans, not without seriously damaging them, the spirit had thrusted his hand out. He hadn’t even needed to think as towering spiral slides crystalized into existence under the children, combining into one large amusement park worthy rollercoaster-esque slide that ended with a small ramp for the children to tumble safely into the blanketed snow.

The winds dropped Jack a few feet from the ground, snow compressing under his bare feet as he ran into the ring of snow in search of the Little Lights buried within. 

“That. Was. Awesome!” Nuffink burst forth a pile of snow, showering Claude and Cupcake with fresh flakes to replace the ones they’d just dusted off their coats.

“Would have been better if I had my sled or a trashcan lid,” Jamie replied cheekily, helping Pippa down from the mound of snow she’d found herself on top of.

“My sled! You gave it to me ‘cause Granny gave you Grandpa’s old snowboard for your birthday,” Sophie corrected, holding her hands up to Jack for him to pull her up off the ground to prevent ruining the snow angel she’d made. He obliged.

“I could have done without the loop-de-loops,” Monty confessed, readjusting his skewed glasses, “but I understand they were to deaccelerate our momentum.”

“I know we’re in the Nevernever, but where exactly?” Zephyr asked as she slid down a mound of snow and looked around the lush woodland. A few Dewdrop faeries’ faces peeked back from the leaves and a dark shadowy thing scurried away when Caleb slipped and fell too close to a brightly colored bush. 

“I’m not sure,” Jack answered, glancing about himself. Doing a doubletake as he saw the unmistakable tracks of a Night Fury padding in his direction with no dragon in sight. Well, that was not completely true, the PermaFrosti Sentinel—and really, the dragon needed a name of his own, if only so Jack would stop referring to him as Ice Toothless in his head—was hovering not too far off the ground, glacier orbs keeping an eye out for any potential threats. It would seem, both dragons had followed them through the portal and the white-haired spirit couldn’t help but be slightly impressed with how fast the flightless Nightless must have run to make it through before the portal closed. 

“Why not ask them?” Cupcake asked, pointing down a clear path to a small cottage some ways off. Sitting on twin rocking chairs situated on the rather homely porch of the cottage, two elderly women wrapped in vibrant shawls, just watching them as they knitted.

“Oh Norns,” the spirit gulped, recognizing the two figures—despite the large distance between them—for who they were. Mother Winter and Mother Summer and upon seeing they had his attention, Mother Winter waved him over. “Kiddos, it looks like we’re being invited over for some tea and biscuits with the Mothers. Be on your best behavior.”

From Lord Herne’s departing words, this was definitely not where he meant to send the eternal teen. But then again, the Mothers of the Courts were very powerful—more so than the current Queens—and if they desired to redirect the Summer King’s portal, they could and they apparently had. 

Why? 

Jack didn’t know, but he was going to find out. 

“Hello Mother Winter, Mother Summer, I apologize for dropping in unannounced,” the eternal teen greeted the two women when he came within speaking distance of the cottage’s residences.

“Very gracious of you sweetie, but we’ve been waiting for your arrival for some time now. If anything, you are late, the food for the children is already on the table and will be cold soon if they do not hurry inside. Come, come, we must not let our invited guests go hungry, else we violate the Laws of Hospitality and we do not want that now, do we?” Mother Summer, her silver hair pulled back in a bun, waved a hand towards the door. 

At the mention of food, whispers broke out behind him and guilt began eating away at the white-haired spirit as it dawned on him. Neither Zephyr nor Nuffink had anything to eat except for the berries the Dewdrop faeries doled in the Warren out since he’d met them. Not to mention, the Little Lights missed their lunch with the Dragon Hunters’ unexpected arrival. They were all probably starving after such an ordeal and it appeared they were all invited guests of the two Mothers. As invited guests, under the Laws of Hospitality, neither side could harm or incite untowardly actions against the other and the hosts were obligated to provide food and lodgings to their guests. In other words, Jack didn’t have to worry about the children unwittingly entering into a deal with either Mother by accepting the offered food.

“Thank you most sincerely for your generosity and hospitality, the children would love a meal and I assure you they will be on their best behavior,” the eternal teen offered with a smile, discreetly nudging Pippa’s foot with his own.

“Oh, yes, thank you so much, as the Heir of the Taliesin Clan, I and the rest of my brethren most humbly accept your hospitality,” the little girl bowed to the Queens Who Were, spurred into action at the prompting of Jack and did her best to not blunder the traditional acceptance of such an invite.

“I too, thank you for the hospitality offered to myself and my brother,” Zephyr bowed as well and Jack couldn’t tell if she was mimicking Pippa or knew of the tradition as well. From the way she held tightly onto her book, he had a feeling it might be a mixture of the former and the latter.

“Then, please make yourself at home,” Mother Winter waved to the door which Jack took as a sign and opened it for the children to head on through. Just as the PermaFrosti Sentinel disappeared over the threshold, another wave of her hand stopped the spirit from following after. “Wait.”

“Yes, what can I do for you, Mother Winter?” Jack turn, allowing the door to close to look straight into the aged face with blue cat-like eyes starring sharply into his own.

“If I am not mistaken, the White Goddess has seen it again as have I, have I not, Jackson?”

Jaw opening and closing with no sound coming out, the eternal teen stared as slitted pupils dilated and he could see beneath the wrinkles to the youthful face he once knew. “P—Periwinkle?”

“It is a pleasure to see you once again, my friend, though you will have to excuse this old bag of bones, I had to live the long way around to see you once more,” Mother Winter— _Periwinkle_ —smiled, hands resting on top of her cane.

“You’re as beautiful as ever,” Jack denied, “though, I do miss the wings.”

“As do I, but they were a small sacrifice to make by accepting the Stone Table and gaining the Crown of Winter,” the Sidhe gestured to the yard where an area not far away shimmered and a viewing portal opened to show a magnificent table made of stone with power pulsing through ruins and arrays of various varieties. 

“I must agree,” Mother Summer nodded her head while closing the viewing portal with a twitch of a finger.

“Ah, yes, Jackson, I hope you remember my sister, Tinkerbell.”

“I do, and I must say, you are looking just as radiant as your sister.”

“My, you sure do know how to make these old bones feel young again,” Mother Summer smiled genuinely. 

“I just speak the truth.”

“As you always have, I remember a certain Ball where that was not such a wise decision.”

“Please don’t remind me, everyone and—if you excuse the expression—their mother seems to be bringing that up today.”

“Do not worry, Jackson, I will be sure to keep my daughters and granddaughters from coming after you. After all, your heart belongs to another and they should respect that.”

“True…” Jack trailed off, falling silent. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask, to just hold his tongue and listen to what the twin fae—no longer the Wyldfae he remembered but Sidhe and the two Queens Who Were—had to say. He didn’t know where to start and now that he was confronted with a piece of his past on Berk, he didn’t know if he wanted to _know_. He was scared and terrified of the answer and at the same time, he needed to know. “Periwinkle… Hiccup…did he…? I mean…?”

“Hiccup never forgot you, my friend, you are his heart.”

There were so many other questions he wanted to ask, not just about Hiccup but about the rest of the Dragon Riders, of Berk, of his friends from the other islands. None of those questions came to mind. Not with the way Periwinkle’s words pierced his heart. “I…I… thank you.”

“You’re welcome, though, I do wish you would introduce your friend here. It has been a long time since I left the Barbaric Archipelago and I do miss spending time with their draconic inhabitants,” Periwinkle tapped her finger on the space just to the left of the spirit, revealing a startled Light Fury. “Oh, how wonderful! A Light Fury, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s _the_ Light Fury. You are, are you not?”

Nightless’s ear-plates came up as her eyes widen and she let out a rumble.

“You are? Wonderful! And what are you doing so far away from the Hidden World?”

Blue eyes widened even further and this time, the Light Fury rumbled a few more things before ending with a growl.

“I see, Dragon Hunters, terrible, just terrible. I will make sure they’re caught and dealt with appropriately, don’t worry.”

Another growl, this one of satisfaction.

“Oh, you and Jack took care of them? That doesn’t surprise me. He hates Dragon Hunters just as much as any dragon. Though, knowing him, he left them alive.”

Nightless nodded her head, snorting.

“Yes, I know, it’s impractical, you don’t know how many times he stopped me from killing someone who’d slighted him on his behalf. But don’t blame him, he is a Druid after all and is rather steadfast in his dedication to maintaining the Balance. Due to his somewhat special relationship with life and death, he has a hard line he refuses to cross when it comes to the Balance of Life and Death unless he is hunting for food. Even then, he would rather starve than kill a baby deer.”

“I feel like I should be defending myself, but I’m not sure how with only hearing one side of the conversation,” Jack lamented.

“That’s alright, sweetie, I know how you feel, I never bothered to learn Dragonese myself and have been left standing to the side many of times when Periwinkle found a dragon to talk to,” Mother Summer consoled him. “Though, I do have to wonder how these hunters tracked a Light Fury all the way outside of the Barbaric Archipelago.”

The Queen Who Was made a humming noise as her pupils became distinctively more catlike as they appraised the Light Fury. Jack knew the minute she found whatever she’d been searching for as her features shifted into something more feral and a lot less human-esque.

“Sister, the dragon carries the Mark of a Witchfinder,” the Summer Sidhe’s announcement hit Jack harder than any physical blow could have. The words rang in his ears as he swayed on his feet, the mere thought inducing a horrible bout of nausea and vertigo. He didn’t hear Mother Winter’s response or the hissed words exchanged between the two sisters. 

All the eternal teen could focus on was the fleeting memories of his mother’s harsh voice cursing the dead for centuries sorcerer when Flee questioned her about the Great Purge and why so few sorcerers escaped. The reason came in the form of a man. A midlevel sorcerer who created the first-ever amulet that bore the Mark of a Witchfinder in exchange for his life. A bargain which did the sorcerer no good as he became the Mark’s first-ever victim. The seal seared into his skin by the amulet did its job and led the Witchfinder right to his veiled house and his family. From then on, it was a common tool in the Witchfinder’s arsenal. They would burn the Mark on a victim and release them, using the amulet to track them back to their clans. 

“Do you know how to remove it?” Jack found his voice was weak even to his own ears because in all of his mother’s stories—the reason for her curses—not even death could remove the Mark.

“It would require an Unraveling,” the eternal teenager only vaguely knew of what Periwinkle spoke of. He heard of someone using an Unraveling only once in his three-hundred years as a spirit and had a hard time imagining how a square of grey cloth could contain the immense power necessary to unmake any enchantment or transformation. “But that would require payment; a trade.”

“What would you require in trade?”

“Hmm,” Mother Winter hummed contemplatively as boney fingers reached into the folds of her shawl and produced a small jagged ice shard with clumps of snow stuck to the sides. Though, what held glacier orbs firmly in place was the dark red—almost black—swirling wisps seemingly caught inside the icy geode. “Jackson, my friend, I must admit to taking something of yours without permission and without leaving anything of value in trade. If you are willing to overlook the delay in procuring an appropriate replacement, I shall give you the Unraveling in trade.”

“Periwinkle, I can safely say, that isn’t mine,” Jack pointed at the jagged ice, only to drop the gesture a moment later as the red wisps seemed to react to him. Pulsing and swirling faster, throwing itself against the side of the icy prison closest to the spirit’s person. He could feel the red wisps’ essence within the icy geode but it was overpowered by the pure rage—fury, _wrath_ , **ire** —and it made his skin crawl because those emotions? They were directed at him.

“Oh, but it is my friend,” a dark gleam entered her cat-like eyes causing the hairs on the back of the eternal teenager’s neck rising. “You see, the last time I saw you—Jackson Overland you, not Jack Frost you—was on this side of the barrier when you were in a haste and thus did not see me in your hurry. But I saw you, I recognized you and the look on your face, and that was all it took for me drop a bit of my snow to aide you in your rush. Predictably, you avoided my snow but I did manage to catch a single breath beneath the thick blankets of winter. I could have left it there, but, as you—unlike most—understand, I am fae. Moreover, I have been a Sidhe for many eons and created the Winter Court from the conquered remains of the Unseelie Court; a court whose nature is known as a beautiful violence, a stark clarity, driven by the most feral of needs and animal desires and killer instinct and I, as the Queen Who Was, am the very embodiment of my court. 

“It should not come as a surprise to hear that I took my snow and compressed it until it was no bigger than my fist. The single breath buried within, now imprisoned in a geode of ice and snow.”

“So, you are going to use my breath to create an Unraveling to remove the Mark on Nightless?”

There was a tittering sound coming from Mother Summer’s direction as Periwinkle shook her head. “Oh no, my friend, I would like to think there is very little you could do for me to even consider catching your breath under my snow. Though, I doubt such an action would work against Jack Frost. No, it was not your last breath but the last breath—the _pneuma_ —of Michael St. Just.

“Your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally did it and in one chapter too! I brought in Emily Jane and introduced Mother Winter: Periwinkle. A large number of people already guessed Periwinkle was one of the Queens of Winter but I bet no one saw EJ's appearance coming (well, other than a few people who've been picking up my brain's wavelength).
> 
> Gah! These chapters are getting hard to balance because I want to get on with the storyline but at the same time, I am tying in/wrapping up parts from earlier in the series. Things I was foreshadowing and am now bring back into the story with actual explanations. Like how some of the Sleepless Squad already guessed, but it was Periwinkle who actually killed Jack's father (another thing I hated was coming up with a name for this asshole. I went with something pretentious and religious sounding to better fit the narrative I created for him rather than Matthew Hopkins who was the real life Witchfinder). I had to cut out most of the flashback scene because while it is my headcannon for this series, it wasn't necessary for the continuation of the story and just plan wordy. For those who want to know, Periwinkle didn't kill him straight out, she technically didn't touch him either, but used her words to torture him, breaking his mind before killing the bastard who dared to hurt Magic Emissary and her friend.
> 
> Oh and the change in the fae's speech pattern isn't because writing Shakespearean speaking is hard (though I will admit that it is) but a way to show they have grown as the world has evolved around them. They didn't stay stagnate in the past but kept up with the times (for the most part, they might be a few decades out of touch, but want elderly people aren't?).
> 
> And now, I have hit a road block so the chapters might not be coming as fast as before for a few reasons. One is RL and two is I don't know what direction I want to go. On the one hand, I would love to bring the Little Lights into the Archipelago because I've spent time developing them (though that was more for how the series was supposed to go before HTTYD:HW came out and I decided to go that route instead). However, then there would be just too many characters to judge without dropping them only for them to randomly appear again (NOOOO, OBVIOUS PLOTHOLES). On the other hand, no Little Lights in Archipelago, less characters but lost opportunities with Little Light shenanigans. (Hiccup, sees Jamie for the first time: The gods have returned Jackson to me as a child; why, Loki, WHY? Jamie: O.o I thought Jack said you were the smart one.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [i am nobody (are you nobody too?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829633) by [spyriteVestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyriteVestar/pseuds/spyriteVestar)




End file.
